Not Quite a Squib, After All
by UnpredictableW1tch
Summary: Christine had always been led to believe she was an ordinary child. That her parents were ordinary people. This was not quite true, though her mother took her secret to the grave. The truth was revealed to Christine in a letter on thick parchment, written in emerald ink.
1. Extended Summary

**Extended Summary**

* * *

Christine Blake was, as far as she had long been led to believe, an ordinary child. As far as she knew, her mother was an ordinary homemaker. She made her wage selling homemade preserves. Her father, a mechanic who specialised in motorcycles.

This was not entirely true.

When she was eight Christine's mother died. Cyllene Blake took to her grave a rather large secret. Neither Christine not her father had any idea of this until Christine turned eleven.

The reveal of this secret came in the form of a letter, enveloped in thick, heavy parchment. The direction written in emerald ink. Sealed with purple wax, which had a strange symbol stamped into it.

* * *

 **A/N -** This is the longer version of the summary of Not Quite a Squib, After All, which was posted along with this work on Archive of Our Own. Since I find the character limit on a bit annoying, so I tend to post my full summaries as a chapter.


	2. Letters and Owls?

**Chapter One**

 **Letters and Owls?**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Strange things tend to happen to Christine, but this took the bloody cake.

* * *

When your father and his wife ran a motorcycle repair shop, there were certain strange things that one simply got used to. People getting tattooed in the back room by one of her dad's buddies on a dare. Engine grease _everywhere_. Loud bangs, crashes, and rumblings at all hours. The occasional brawl – which may or may not involve an off manual use for some of her father's tools.

Even with her rather warped sense of 'normal', there were some things that Christine knew just weren't ordinary. Not by anyone's standards, not even the druggies that hung around the courtyard down the road. Talking to snakes, for example. Accidentally shattering a cup when upset, for example.

Little things like that were adding up more and more as time went on.

Christine hadn't the foggiest as to what was wrong with her. But she was fairly certain there _was_ something.

Which meant that Christine was keeping a close eye out for anything else suspicious going on around her. She was sure that if there was anything, she'd see it. Christine had a knack for noticing things.

Although, it wouldn't take Sherlock Holmes to notice the next weird thing to happen to her. In fact, rather than being hard to spot, this strange thing was hard not to see. Even more difficult, was figuring out what was going on. Or if she wasn't imagining things.

Frankly, Christine hoped she was imagining things.

She had been sitting at the coffee table in their flat above the shop, drawing. For once keeping to herself and not running amuck in the garage. All of a sudden, there was a loud tapping on the window behind her. She was on the first floor, so that came as a shock. Christine whirled around, upsetting the plastic cup that held all her pencils, scattering them all over the old carpet.

Even more surprising than the tapping at the living room window, was the source of the demanding noise. It was an _owl_. A real-live barn owl was sitting precariously on the windowsill, tapping on the window with its beak. When the bird noticed Christine looking at it, it started squawking at her impatiently.

Christine didn't react beyond staring at the _owl_ in absolute shock.

Why was an owl sitting outside her window? More importantly, why was it trying so insistently to get in?

The squawking and tapping were only getting louder and more determined the longer Christine hesitated. She was wary of causing a fuss and dragging her father away from his work. She'd heard him complaining with Jessie about all they had to do earlier. So, she scrambled to her feet and pushed up the window, in the hope it would get the bird to shut up.

It did. Thank god.

Instead of flapping about in frantic circles like Christine had expected, the owl gently fluttered down onto the coffee table. Landing carefully, and avoiding catching any of her drawings on its talons. It settled down and once again turned its huge eyes on her.

It looked like it was waiting for something. Rather impatiently, though Christine wasn't entirely sure how she came to that conclusion. Other than thinking the owl was strangely expressive.

Was this normal owl behaviour?

She didn't think so.

Christine and the bird stared at each other for a good five minutes. The bird didn't move. Neither did Christine. The animal didn't seem very happy with her reluctance to do whatever it was it wanted. Still, Christine remained where she was.

They stayed like that until there was a noise from the stairwell. Someone was coming up from the shop. Good. Maybe _they'd_ be able to handle this weird arse owl.

If it was real. Christine was still sort of hoping it was just a figment of her imagination.

The door to the hall opened and Christine heard a jovial step enter the flat. Followed by Jessie's equally cheerful, if a little tired, voice calling out for her.

"You still alive up here baby? Haven't heard anything break in a while."

Christine dropped out of the staring match she was having with the owl to turn toward the flat's door. She hovered for a second. Undecided as to whether or not she should leave the owl unsupervised. In the end, she thought it best not to leave a strange animal alone in the flat. Instead of running to Jessie like she usually would, she called out a reply.

"In the sitting room."

She didn't have to speak very loudly. The flat was pretty small. Something to be thankful for in that instance, as it meant she wasn't in danger of startling the bird. It seemed calm enough at the minute. But she didn't want to risk it flying off the handle.

Pun intended.

Jessie bounced into the sitting room with a smile on her lips and a streak of motor oil on her eyebrow. Her good mood vanished, however, once she saw what was keeping her step-daughter company. She rushed to Christine's side and put herself between the child and the bird. Owls weren't known to be particularly dangerous. But Christine was the source of all exceptions.

"Kalo, how'd a bloody owl get in the flat?" she asked, a little wary and worried, a tone not normally associated with the affectionate nickname.

Christine weighed her options, and decided that honesty was the best way to go this time.

"It was scratching at the window. I was scared it was gonna break it, so I opened it. When I did it flew in. It won't move."

"Jesus, why does all this shit always happen to you?"

Christine shrugged. She knew Jessie wouldn't see it, but as she was pressed against the woman's legs Christine was pretty sure she'd feel the movement and make a good guess. It was a good question, though. One Christine didn't know how to even begin to answer.

"Beats me."

Jessie ran a hand through her hair, completely messing up her loose ponytail. Then she quickly went out into the hall, only to come back with the sweeping brush from the hall closet. As her step-mother approached the offending bird, broom held at the ready almost like a knight's lance, Christine finally noticed something odd about the bird.

Well, odder than everything else about the bloody thing.

"It's got something on its leg," she told Jessie, pointing at the bird's appendage, "Looks like a letter."

That didn't stop her step-mother from violently shooing the owl back out the window, and then slamming it closed after it. She put the broom away and came back to inspect Christine for any cuts or scrapes. She found none. Satisfied her step-daughter was alright and not traumatised, Jessie flung herself onto the couch and dragged Christine with her and into a hug.

"Don't worry baby girl, probably some nutter using it like a carrier pigeon or something. No amount of crazy'd be surprising in these parts."

Christine didn't bother asking any questions or staying on the subject. The incident with the owl was weird. Really weird. But it was also unsettling. And when her choice was between focusing on that and the playful wrestling with her step-mother, Christine would much prefer the latter.


	3. Stern and Dressed in Tartan

**Chapter Two**

 **Stern and Dressed in Tartan**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Things calmed down a lot in the days following the owl invasion. Christine should've known it wouldn't stay that way for long.

* * *

Things calmed down after the owl invasion - as it had become known among the gang at the shop. It was so calm that it would be considered boring, if her father and step-mother's business and friends didn't supply ample amusement.

there were no spontaneously exploding dishes. No snakes sought her out to have a chat after explaining their owners. Nothing started floating around when the adults in her life weren't looking. It seemed like the strangeness that had followed her for as long as she could remember decided to take a long-deserved break.

Until one afternoon at the beginning of August.

Christine was in the shop that day, since it was quiet. Underneath an old motorcycle, watching her father fiddle with a gear that was giving trouble and listening to him explain the problem as he fixed.

Everything was going swimmingly, until Jessie walked up to where the bike was rigged up and tapped Christine's father's leg lightly with her foot. Her father rolled his backboard out to see what his wife wanted. Christine followed his lead and looked up at her step-mother curiously. She rarely interrupted his work. Usually, she was elbow deep in an engine herself, and too busy to distract anyone else.

Christine was glad she did. Jessie looked confused and worried. Not a typical combination for her. Her step-mother was rarely confused by anything. And it was even less common for her to be really worried by something. Most situations tended to roll off her, like water off a raincoat.

Her father was evidently thinking along the same lines as Christine, because he shot his wife a concerned look.

"Sup Jess?"

"There's a woman out front, says she wants to talk to you about Kalo."

Now that _was_ confusing. Christine couldn't think of any reason some strange woman would want to talk to her father about her, of all things. She just hoped it wasn't a social worker. Those people had a nasty habit of thinking her family were deadbeats because of their profession and their association with her father's people.

Safe to say, neither Christine nor her parents like them very much.

"Who's she?" her father asked, voicing the bewilderment they were all feeling.

"No clue. But she's wiggin out the customers, so take her to the break room and see what she wants."

Her father hauled himself up and placed a quick kiss on Jessie's cheek. Then reached out a hand to help Christine to her feet as well. She brushed off some scraps of metal shavings off her jeans, then gave her step-mother a quick hug.

"Kalo, head to the break room, I'll be there in a minute. I'll go get her, so you and everyone else can get back to work, Jess."

"Right Dom, but if you leave any bloodstains in the break room I'm not cleaning it up," Jess warned playfully and returned to the Ducati she was tuning up.

Christine was a little disappointed she had to go to the back room. The racing bike was _awesome_. She'd much rather play around with it than sit through another meeting with a stuff, haggard social worker. Still, she went, as her father told her to.

Experience told her that playing the good, obedient little girl would make this go a lot more smoothly. They didn't really care how happy living with her father made her. Social workers only cared about whether or not she was attending school, and not becoming a budding criminal.

She waited for her father to come back with the woman. Pretending to be patient. Which was rather difficult, because she was very eager to get this over with already. And they hadn't even started yet.

Her forced patience paid off. Because her father came in with the woman after a few minutes. Although, he still looked confused by her.

Christine could see why. She was more than a little confused by the woman herself.

She was an older woman. Well past retirement age, by the looks of it. Age aside, she looked like a formidable woman. She had a stern, authoritative air about her. Which was furthered by the tight, perfect bun that her greying black hair was twisted up into at the top of her head, and the set of her thin lips. It was obvious, even to Christine, a child, that this woman was used to being listened to unquestioningly.

But she didn't look like any social worker Christine had ever met.

She was stern, yes. But behind her stately bearing and glasses, she had a kind look in her eyes. And a slight upturn to her mouth that softened her face just enough to be approachable.

She'd never met a government official who bothered to look any way kindly.

And she was dressed rather strangely for a government worker. She wore a bottle green skirt that reached her ankles. Shiny, black high heeled leather boots with gleaming silver buckles that looked like something out of the British Museum. And a tailored tartan coat made of thick wool.

It was a strange choice of attire for the middle of summer. Especially with the heatwave London was going through the last few weeks.

The woman looked a little surprised to see Christine waiting for her. Though, it appeared to be a pleasant surprise, given the twitch of her lips at the sight of her.

"This must be Christine," the woman stated pleasantly, speaking to Christine's father, "I'm glad you thought to include her in our chat, Mr. Rumancek."

Christine was a little surprised that the woman addressed her father by his real name. Most people preferred to overlook it, or forget about it completely, and call him by the name he used in all his business dealings. Mr. Dominic Taylor. This woman, however, didn't seem at all uncomfortable addressing him by the name Rumancek.

"Yeah, it is," he answered her and offered her the most untattered and unstained chair in the break room with a wave, "Chris, this's Ms. McGonagall."

In the presence of a stranger, even on as strange as McGonagall, he wouldn't use her Roma name. It was _theirs_ , and he was always wary of letting outsiders have it.

The woman sat down and corrected Dominic kindly, "Professor McGonagall, actually Mr. Rumancek. I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts."

That was surprising and extremely puzzling. Christine had never heard of any school called 'Hogwarts'. A quick look at her father told her that he had no idea what she was on about either. On top of that, Christine had no idea why a teacher was going so much out of her way to talk to her and her father.

She had a feeling that weird was about to come back in force.


	4. What's a Squib?

**Chapter Three**

 **What's a Squib?**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Things just keep getting weirder, and Christine doesn't understand anything. Hey, at least she got a new pet out of it.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Dominic said haltingly, "But I still don't know why you're here."

Professor McGonagall frowned at him. Then flicked her eyes to Christine. She was equally clueless, and that seemed to perturb the teacher further.

"It came to my attention that there was some trouble with the owl which was supposed to deliver your daughter's letter. It returned to Hogwarts with the letter," she said, as though that explained everything.

It didn't.

But Christine decided to take advantage of the silence that followed her 'explanation' to prove a point.

"I told you it had a letter," she said to her father triumphantly.

He looked away from the professor finally, and gave her an exasperated sigh. He hadn't believed her when she told him about the incident. Not entirely. He believed that an owl had infiltrated their home. He didn't believe that it was acting as some sort of carrier pigeon. She smiled at him. With a last unimpressed look, he turned his attention back to their guest.

"You couldn't just use the post?" he asked, and Christine thought it was a very good question.

Professor McGonagall didn't appear to agree with that sentiment. Her frown deepened, and she started to look rather confused as well.

"Wizards don't usually use the muggle postal service," she said slowly, as though she was speaking to a very slow young child.

Wizards? Muggle? What on earth was a muggle?

This meeting had taken a stranger turn than even Christine had expected it to.

Christine and Dominic looked at her in turn, as though they'd just realised that they were speaking to an escaped mental patient. They looked at each other warily. Each wondering what to do now that they'd let a mad woman into their home.

"Ma'am, I think you're confused," Dominic said gently, leaning forward so that he was within arm's reach of the phone on the counter, "Wizards aren't real."

McGonagall's eyebrows rose almost to her hairline. She didn't say anything to that. Just looked from one of them to the other, like she was sure they were playing some king of trick on her.

They weren't.

So, for a while, the three of them sat in silence. All thinking they were speaking to a crazy person. Until McGonagall relaxed a trifle. She let out a small sigh through her nose and adjusted her glasses. She leaned forward, looking serious and worried.

"Your mother never told you about us?" she asked sympathetically.

"My mum?" Christine repeated, more baffled than ever.

Did this woman know her mother? Was she just nuts and off her meds?

Christine looked to her father, searching for an explanation from him. But he was just as mystified as his daughter was. Looking at McGonagall with the same alarmed expression.

"I'll take that as a no," McGonagall said, mostly to herself, then looked at Christine and her father again, "This wasn't what I was expecting when I came to see you both. But I assure you that witches, wizards, and magic are absolutely real."

Before either of them could say anything in reply, McGonagall pulled out a long thin piece of wood from her sleeve. It had a handle with prettily carved little spheres. It looked like ... It was ... A wand? Christine could hardly believe her eyes. Either that was a real wand, or McGonagall was _really_ committed to her delusions.

She pointed it at the battered old coffee table - well that was being generous, it was a wooden pallet on cinder blocks. And with a precise little movement of her hand, and the wand, it transformed into a pot bellied pig.

An actual, real live, pig was standing, and snuffling, right where their table used to be.

Christine exclaimed in shocked delight. It was the single most amazing thing she'd ever seen. She could hardly believe it. Still, she launched herself off the beaten up old couch and flung her arms around the pig's neck. It stuck its wet nose into her face and snuffled around her neck in return.

"Dad, it's real! It's a real pig!"

"Yeah," Dominic replied weakly.

"Can we keep him? Can we?"

"Yeah," he agreed.

Though it was clear he was too shocked and distracted to really know what he was saying, Christine was going to take it as an agreement. The pig was hers now. And there was no way she was going to let him go back on that. She was going to call him Floyd.

Her father's brain seemed to completely skip over the fact that he'd just adopted a magical pig. He was far more focused on the fact that McGonagall had just turned his table into an animal. And that she apparently really was a witch. Who'd just used real magic right in front of them.

Christine thought it was absolutely amazing.

Her father seemed to be thinking along very different lines. And whatever he was marinating over didn't look to be bringing him the same delight his daughter was experiencing.

Quite the opposite. He looked like he was having a bad stomach ache.

Eventually, he found his voice again.

"Cyllene was ... she was a witch?" he asked quietly, with clear disbelief, "She never said anything about it. I never saw her do anything ... magical. I don't believe it."

McGonagall looked sympathetic again. It was an emotion which usually annoyed Christine. She didn't want or need anybody's pity. It was a useless waste of their energy, because they never did anything other than feel miserable for a few minutes. Then they forgot all about what made them sad in the first place.

But McGonagall seemed genuine. Sincere. It wasn't something she often saw in authority figures outside of her parents. So, Christine refrained from snapping at her. Besides, she'd just given her a pig. She didn't want to seem ungrateful.

"Cyllene Blake wasn't a witch," she told them softly, "She was a squib."

"What's a squib?" Christine asked curiously.

It was a strange word. She'd never heard anything like it before. Well, it sounded like squid. But while Christine evidently didn't know everything about her mother, she was absolutely certain her mother wasn't a squid.

McGonagall used a lot of strange words. Hogwarts. Muggle. Squib. To Christine, and likely her father, they were pure and utter nonsense. To McGonagall they were probably meant something. Christine didn't have a clue what they could mean. But she doubted anyone as serious as the professor would use gibberish for fun.

The professor took a steadying breath. She'd said that she hadn't been expecting to have to explain anything to them. It was clear in that moment just how unexpected this was to her. And that her mother was a lot more complicated than Christine had ever imagined.

She felt a bit sorry for McGonagall. But her curiosity far outweighed any other emotion she was feeling.

"This is going to be quite complicated, Miss. Blake."

Oh, this was going to get _weird_.

* * *

 **A/N -** Hey, Rin here, updates are coming pretty quickly at the moment. But I'm starting a new course in a couple weeks. Between that and work updates'll be pretty sporadic. I'll update when I can, but they might be few and far between.


	5. Accepting the Past

**Chapter Four**

 **Accepting the Past**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Acceptance is a powerful thing, however difficult it may be to come by.

* * *

Christine had been completely right all those years ago, sitting in the break room of her parent's shop with Professor McGonagall. It did get weird. Far more so than Christine had ever imagined possible. More than that, it had been completely overwhelming. And accepting everything the professor told her had taken a lot of time.

The most challenging thing by far was accepting that her mother was not the person she had known her to be. At least, not entirely. It was really hard to believe that her mother was a squib, had grown up in the magical world without magic herself. That she had been disowned because of it.

The news made her feel very sorry for her mother. It must have been a very difficult thing to live through. And eventually, she grew to understand why Cyllene didn't like to talk about it.

But it still hurt, that her mother never mentioned it.

Professor McGonagall was unbelievably helpful when Christine was trying to understand her mother's past. She was very patient with Christine's unending questions about her mother and the world she came from. Though Professor McGonagall had never known her mother personally, and couldn't answer all of her questions, she tried her best. Which Christine appreciated.

And even though she wasn't the head of Christine's house, the door to her office was always open to Christine who she was at Hogwarts herself. It was a kindness that Christine would never forget. And could only hope to repay in the future.

One of the most valuable things she ever told Christine and her parents, was that most magical people who lived in the muggle world had a habit of keeping their origins secret. That her mother would likely have told her everything when she turned eleven and the letter from Hogwarts came.

That helped, a lot. Knowing that her mother probably didn't intend to take the knowledge of her past to the grave.

McGonagall's openness on the subject had another, unintended effect. Though it only came to light in the days after she left them with Christine's letter of acceptance and list of the necessary wizarding school supplies. Surprisingly, the person her presence and her news affected most wasn't Christine. It was Dominic.

In the week after McGonagall's visit, her father was a lot quieter than normal, thoughtful and pensive. It wasn't a look that suited him, a man whose face was far more accustomed to laughter and joy.

At first, Christine thought it was because Dominic was having a hard time accepting the revelation that came along with the professor and her letter. That he was having trouble acknowledging that she was different. That she was, apparently, a witch. She was wrong. It had been known to happen on occasion, but it wasn't something Christine expected. Or particularly liked. Especially not for the second time in a week.

She let it go, however, because being wrong was worth it this time since it meant her father opened up about something he'd never spoken about before. At least, he'd never talked about it where Christine could hear. She couldn't be entirely sure he'd told Jessie about it, but she thought it was likely.

He began the subject abruptly, when the two of them were alone in the kitchen. He was watching a sauce on the stove like a hawk, stirring occasionally. While Christine was perched on the counter nearby, pretending to help. Really, she just didn't want to clean her room. Dominic knew this, of course, but let her avoid the task because he wanted to talk to her before any more time passed.

"Your mum never talked about her family. Never. Not with me, not with anyone else far as I could tell," he said, not looking at his daughter, whose head spun toward him so quickly he was afraid she'd snap it, "Whenever it came up, Cyllene always got so upset. She tried to hide it, but she couldn't. Pretty soon, everyone got the idea and didn't bring it up anymore."

Christine didn't say anything to that, though she desperately wanted to hurl a million and one questions at him. Instead, she waited incredibly impatiently for him to keep going. Which, eventually, he did. Though it seemed very difficult for him to do so.

"I tried to give her a new family instead. One that wouldn't make her break down whenever anyone talked about them," he stopped to clear his throat, which had become constricted with an overflow of emotion, "It worked. All your cousins loved her. Your grandparents did too. So did my Gran. And Cyllene loved them. She fit in with all of us perfectly, even though it was so damn obvious she'd been raised by a bunch of toffs."

"I never stopped to think why it was so easy. I was too happy with her, and then with you too, to question it."

They sat, or stood, in silence for a while after that declaration. Christine had always known her father's family thought highly of her mother. But she hadn't known until then how much they'd done for Cyllene. That they'd taken her in as one of their own, long before her parents had married and Christine was born, creating a permanent tie between them.

Dominic didn't seem inclined to say more on the matter. But from the look on his face, Christine could tell he wasn't done yet, however little he liked talking about it. So, she kept her questions to herself again.

"Since that professor, McGonagall, came though, I've been thinking about it."

Christine didn't know what to say to that. Or why the teacher's appearance in their lives would get him thinking about their family so intently. She maintained her silence, but Dominic could see the questions she was holding back clearly as if they were written on her forehead.

"Cyllene would've known enough, if she really was a squib, to understand why our family's a bit... out there," he explained haltingly, and that perked Christine's interest enough to finally get her to speak up.

"What d'you mean?"

Dominic hesitated again at her question. But steeled himself like he was about to walk into a mine field and forced himself to go on.

"I mean, you aren't the first person in the family to have magic."

At that, Christine's jaw actually dropped and she nearly fell off the counter. Her father caught her before she could hurt herself, but she hardly noticed. She was too busy gaping at him in absolute amazement.

After a while though, she got her voice back. And with it, Dominic's brief reprieve and silence was over.

"But you said to McGonagall that magic wasn't real!" she pointed out in a tone that demanded and explanation, and a very good one at that.

"It's the best kept secret in London, Kalo. It wouldn't be if I went blabbing about it to every nutter I came across," he explained with an apologetic smile.

Christine frowned in confusion. If he knew about magic, he had to have known about the magical school and its teachers too.

"You really thought she was a nutter?"

"I did. Never heard of that Hogwarts place before," Dominic admitted, "Your cousins that needed to, they always learned the old ways from the family. The idea of a school all about it's kind of crazy to me still."

"Oh," was all Christine said in reply to that.

She was too caught up in her own thoughts to say much more. She'd been hurt that her mother hadn't shared the magical world with her. And now her father just admitted to keeping almost the exact same secret from her all her life. It was proving too much for her to take in, in the space of merely a week.

"Don't be cross with me, love. Please?" Dominic requested, "I didn't tell you cause you're a kid. I didn't want you to have to carry around a secret like that. I'm sure that's why your mum didn't say anything either. It's not because we don't trust you."

Christine managed a weak smile at him. That did comfort her a little. They kept things from her because she was young. All parents did that. It wasn't because of something she did wrong. And even though he did so unwillingly, Christine was glad her father had, at last, let her in on the family secret.

Well, the biggest family secret. The Rumanceks had _plenty_ of those lurking around.

Because it was nice to know that she wasn't alone in this. That, as in all other things, she had her family to support her.

And that was exactly what they did. Even when she decided to attend Hogwarts as well as learning the old ways from her Grandaunt Lilla during her holidays from school. They didn't think it was really necessary. Nonetheless, they were a constant source of warmth and support as she entered the magical world.

But still, adjusting to the magical world had been difficult at first. Knowing that she would be looked down upon because her mother was a squib was a tough pill to swallow. But it was nothing she hadn't experienced before.

People in the muggle world looked down on her all the time. For numerous reasons. Because her family were poorer than most. Because her parents were bikers, and their friends were comprised of other bikers, tattoo artists, punks, and the like. Because they lived in a bad part of London. Because her mother and father had been divorced, and her father was remarried. Because they were Romani.

It was something Christine was confident she could overcome, even when she was just a kid. And had just found out about the magical world and all of the drama that came along with it.

She had been totally right about that, as it turned out. As she grew older, Christine discovered that she was rarely wrong, especially when it came to betting on her abilities.

Once she had adjusted to her new identity, to the world she was apparently a part of, Christine thrived.

She had always gotten good marks at school, though it had never really been able to hold her attention. She was good a fiddling around with the bikes in the shop, and helping out with the business. But magic, as it happened, was something Christine excelled at. Soon, it became her passion. And the world around it felt as though she had been involved with it since birth.

Once she accepted who was, her real origins, Christine wore them as armour. She was unashamed and open about it. Which confused her housemates so much that they soon grew tired of trying to use it against her. It became something she mercilessly shoved in their faces, not something they could use to hurt her.

That victory alone was enough repayment for the effort it took her to accept herself and her mother. Her mother's family, as horrible as they appeared to be to her.

Christine's past and parentage had become her shield and her sword at Hogwarts. And she used both freely to cut down anyone who crossed her.

Acceptance, she learned, was a powerful tool. And one she had over most of the student body. So, when she graduated, it was at the top of her year, and with a fierce reputation to protect her from the paltry attacks of others.

* * *

 **A/N -** I've gone back and edited some of the earlier chapters of this work, but since this one has the most changes, I decided to attach this note to the chapter in explanation. I had always imagined Christine as being half Romani on her father' side. But I kind of flew through writing most of the early chapters, and only realised later on that I really didn't indicate that was the case in any of them. Thus, looking back, it felt very sudden to say she was Romani in Chapter Eight. So, I went back and fixed that mistake. Hopefully, it feels more natural to you all now.


	6. Calling a Truce

**Chapter Five**

 **Calling a Truce**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Graduations do funny things to people. Christine is, unsurprisingly, not immune to the emotion sweeping through the seventh years.

* * *

Graduations, as far as Christine knew, were always bitter sweet affairs. There were always tears. Regrets. Nostalgia and excitement in equal amounts. Her classmates were going through all the usual emotions that went along with such an event right on schedule. Along with the inexplicable and sudden memory loss that made them all much fonder of each other than they had ever been during their school years.

Even she was included in the last one. Her classmates were suffering a bout of collective amnesia and decided they'd loved her all along. For most of them, that was entirely untrue. Christine hadn't made many friends during her time at Hogwarts.

Still, since she didn't want to cause a big scene on a day where everyone involved was already full of mixed and volatile emotions, Christine didn't remind any of them about that. Instead, she hugged and laughed and joked about their former years with them all while they waited for the ceremony to start.

Mostly because she did have some friends, and Christine knew they'd appreciate her being cooperative with their classmates for once. Tonks especially. Her cousin was cheerful and adventurous, funny and personable. Which made her a lot more popular with their peers than Christine. So, she had people flocking to her during their last day as students.

That Christine didn't pick a fight with any of them made things a lot easier for her.

And Christine had to admit, it was nice.

Despite their differences, of which there were many, the seventh years had been through a lot together. Their crazy DADA teacher, Professor Herbert, who tried to blow up the school in their third year. The giant spider that attacked their Care of Magical Creatures class the year after. Christine was sure it had been an Acromantuala. So were her classmates. But they'd never been able to convince anyone else of that.

Cramming for OWLs and NEWTs. Dealing with Peeves. The ... incident that turned the potions classroom pink.

It was still pink, actually. Classes had to be moved to another room in the dungeons. Snape was still sour about it, Christine was sure. He'd been even nastier than usual to Penny ever since. Her head of house knew how to hold a grudge, especially against Gryffindors.

Those things hadn't been particularly enjoyable for anyone, but they'd formed a bond between them all that was impossible to deny. And they made the good memories they'd managed to create together seem much sweeter.

Like all those History of Magic lessons where they fucked around while Professor Binns droned on obliviously. Sneaking around at night and on weekends to complete inter-house competitions and dares. The paint ball inspired inter-house war of second year was a particular favourite for most people. And the yearly snowball fight between all of them the day before the Christmas holidays.

And Tonks wasn't the only one their classmates were coming to see with with watery smiles on their faces. Quite a lot of people came to see her as well.

Her dorm mates were the first to approach her where she lounged with Tonks in the courtyard. The seven of them in their emerald graduation robes made an odd sight with her cousin sticking out in her brilliantly yellow robes and matching hair. Each of them embraced her warmly and greeted Tonks kindly.

This affection between the seven Slytherin girls was hard won. At first, they didn't get along, at all. It was all typical Slytherin and teenage girl stuff. Petty one-upmanship with each of them trying to come out on top.

Christine was angry, when she was first sorted into Slytherin. With them. With the world. Both magical and muggle, where she faced discrimination from all sides.

She'd had a lot to prove too, as the daughter of a disowned squib. And she had been determined back then to do it alone. Without relying on anyone else, which she mistakenly thought would be a show of weakness.

But time had been good to them. During their time living together in the Slytherin dorms they'd all become close. Of course, some of them were closer than others. Francis and Harrio were joined at the hip, but they were still friends with the others. Anna and Christine had become very close too, just as close as she was with Tonks. But Christine still appreciated and cared for the rest of her dorm mates.

So, she hugged them back just as fiercely. She smiled back with just as much emotion behind her eyes. Christine was going to miss them all. They'd been a constant in her life for seven years. Living in such close quarters had given them an intimacy that she didn't think she could ever truly recreate again.

When they were all done hugging, and trying not to cry all over each other, Anna got that look in her eye. The one that meant things were either going to get incredibly awesome, or really fucked up, really quickly.

It was the look she always got when she came up with her latest idea that she wanted to drag Christine and the others into. It was something that always made Christine wary, and a little excited. Though, based on past experience, wary usually dominated.

"We're all going on a trip to France for a few weeks, come with us," it wasn't a question, or a request. Anna rarely asked for anything. She never needed to.

"That's new," Christine said, still smiling, but a little wary of the whole idea.

Her friends all knew about her family and their situation. They knew she always went home to help at the shop during the summer. And they knew that her plans hadn't changed this summer either. There had been enough late-night talks, too, for them all to be aware of how she felt about spending the money her mother left her on anything but her education.

"It's just us girls, one last hurrah before we have to be adults. We always talked about how cool it'd be to go see Nicolas Flamel's first workshop," Emily continued, throwing an arm around her shoulders, "There's no telling what the rest of us'll get up to without you and Trish around to keep our heads on straight."

Just as she was about to decline the offer, Tonks nudged her with a smirk. She looked at her cousin with a raised eyebrow, but as usual, Tonks wasn't intimidated in the slightest.

"You should go, have some fun before you into full big sister mode."

"You're invited too, Tonks," Harrio said, as if it should've been obvious.

To her, it probably had been. Tonks was a Black by blood, Harrio Selwyn had always considered her as good as one of theirs. Any invitation from her or Francis always included Tonks as well.

Tonks smiled at the offer, as she always did when Christine's friends made efforts to include her. But it was regretful, and she shook her head.

"I'd love to, but the interview process for the Auror training programme starts in a few weeks," she told them, and the other girls nodded in understanding.

And they did, understand. It had been known to them for a long time that Tonks wanted nothing more than to become an Auror. It was far more important than any holiday abroad could be. And they took the rejection for what it was, and there was no offence.

Her friends didn't push Christine to say anything more about the planned girls' holiday. They knew her well enough by then to know she'd need time to decide if she was going or not.

They all remained where they were for the rest of the morning. Chatting amongst themselves and their classmates who came up to say their goodbyes. They all knew it wasn't really goodbye for good. The magical world was a small one, and it was highly unlikely they'd never see each other again. But it was the last time they'd see each other as peers, unquestionable equals.

It signalled the end of a period of their lives where all they had to worry about was getting good grades and not running into Peeves when they were late.

They stayed like that until it was time to take their places in the Great Hall for the ceremony. When they did, the hall looked completely different to how it did when they ate breakfast there earlier.

The long tables they'd eaten at during their school years were gone. They'd been replaced by rows of long benches, all facing the top of the hall, where the Professor's table usually was. In its place was a stage, of sorts. Dumbledore's gilded podium was still in its normal place. But instead of the staff table, there were a few chairs, more ornate and comfortable looking than the benches that lined the rest of the hall.

There was one for Dumbledore himself, in the centre. On the right, were four chairs for each of the heads of house. On the left, were four more chairs. One for the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. One for the Head Boy and Girl respectively. The last was for Christine. So, that was where she headed while all of her friends and acquaintances filed into place behind the res of their professors.

The Minister had yet to arrive, but it was still very early. Everyone else who was supposed to sit upon the stage was either present, or had just come in behind her.

The res of the seats were designated for the parents and guardians of each of the students. They probably wouldn't arrive for another ten minutes or so, on the Hogwarts Express. Which would take them and their children back to King's Cross that evening.

Christine was nervous, but she took her place next to Samuel and Amelia, nodding and politely as she could. She'd never liked them, and they never liked her. When it came to the three of them, the animosity was held even when the rest of the student body had decided to call a truce.

They both looked smug and superior as always. Samuel seemed to think he'd won some kind of victory over her, because the Hogwarts livery collar around his shoulders was gold and Christine's was silver. She ignored him.

She was a lot more focused on the speech she was supposed to give before Dumbledore started giving out the diplomas.

Christine hadn't wanted to speak at her graduation. But she had been strong armed into it by Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. As the student with the highest average marks, she was supposed to be up on stage with them. But she'd rather be a part of the crowd. Snape wasn't going to allow that, though.

There was no way he was going to let such an opportunity to show up Professor McGonagall go. She was the only head of house who didn't have a student on the stage or making a speech that year, and Professor Snape wanted to rub it in her face. So, there was no getting out of it for Christine.

She took her seat without any complaint or hesitation. Looked out at the sea of red, blue, yellow, and green that was her classmates. Still chatting happily amongst themselves for the moment. Some looked nervous as she felt. Other just looked excited. Christine could understand and empathise with both feelings right then.

Then she waited, anxiously, as the parents finally started filing in. It was almost time for her moment in the spotlight.

Ugh.


	7. A Bittersweet Graduation

**Chapter Six**

 **A Bittersweet Graduation**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Christine has to speak at her graduation. She's nervous, excited, and very unimpressed by the Minister for Magic.

* * *

When everyone else was seated, Cornelius Fudge decided to grace them with his presence. He strode into the hall in the strangest combination of clothes Christine had ever wanted to see. A purple suit, a pinstripe cloak, and the most hideous lime green bowler hat she'd ever had the displeasure of laying eyes upon.

Luckily, she had enough self-control not to let the disgust she felt at his outfit show on his face. And the repugnance she felt knowing that he'd likely been waiting for that moment, keeping everyone else waiting, just so he could make a dramatic entrance.

Aside from his terrible fashion sense, Christine was unimpressed with the man. He looked pompous and self-absorbed. And Christine had learned to trust her own instincts about people.

He took his seat next to Dumbledore with a self-satisfied air that she couldn't understand how her headmaster could stand. Finally, the ceremony could begin.

It started with Professor Flitwick's speech. It was short, sweet, and full of philosophic advice, as was to be expected. A round of polite applause followed. More enthusiastically by the Ravenclaw students. And the parents who had been in Flitwick's house when they were at Hogwarts themselves.

Professor Sprout took the podium next. Her speech was longer, full of hope for their futures. Very uplifting. Filled with confidence that each and every one of them would succeed in their lives after school. The warm applause that followed was what Christine had seen coming. She'd also seen it coming, that Tonks would stand up to give a big whoop, until she was pulled back into her seat by a very amused Yasmin Tamer.

Even so, Christine couldn't quite hid the smile that it brought to her face. But she did raise a hand to her face to try and stifle the giggle that rose from her throat. Amelia looked at her disdainfully out of the corner of her eye. Christine ignored her. As per usual.

Her cousin didn't look at all upset that her appreciation for her head of house was cut short. In fact, she looked positively delighted. Probably because everyone in the Great Hall was doing the same as Christine, trying to stifle the laughter that her cousin's outburst had caused. Tonks looked very proud of herself because of it.

The only person who wasn't close to laughing was Professor Snape, which was clear as he stepped up to the podium to make his own speech.

That wasn't surprising. In seven years, Christine had never seen Professor Snape so much as smile. Or even look like he might be close to forming such an expression. And Christine had gotten much closer to her head of house than any other student had during her time at school.

It was a little sad, if Christine thought about it. Knowing someone for seven years and never seeing them so much as attempt to smile. But she put it down to her professor's tendency to keep everything close to his chest.

His speech was short, it was dramatic, and far less sentimental than any of the others that had preceded it. And far less gushy than any that would follow, as well. That was typical of Professor Snape. He was proud of most of his students, at least his Slytherin students, though he rarely deigned to show it publicly.

The Slytherins knew how he felt all the same. Most of them were perceptive enough to know either way. Additionally, they had been under his tutelage for a long time. They knew how he worked, and they saw between the lines of his speech well enough to see the pride for them shining through.

Christine clapped along with the rest of the hall as he turned back to his seat. But unlike them, she shared a quick, quiet look with him as he returned to his place between Professors Sprout and McGonagall. A quirk of her lips, almost a smile. A flick of an eyebrow before he looked away from her.

He was proud of her.

And he was just as impatient as she was for all the pomp and circumstance to be over and done with already. Unfortunately for both of them, they still had five speeches to get through and then all the diplomas to hand out.

McGonagall took the podium after Professor Snape. Her speech, too, was exactly what Christine had expected from her. Reserved, but proud and a little emotional.

Once the applause for their Deputy Headmistress died off, the Minister took her place at the podium. Christine had no interest in listening to anything he might have to say. So, she allowed herself to zone out a little bit. And she turned out to be right to do so. Cornelius Fudge rambled on for a good fifteen minutes, far longer than anyone else. And in all that time, he managed to say nothing at all worthwhile. A true politician, as her step-mother would say. In this instance, as with many others, Christine couldn't argue against her point.

He was succeeded in the spotlight by a person whom Christine had just as little interest in listening to. Samuel strutted up to Dumbledore's usual spot and started an obviously over rehearsed and self-congratulating rant. However, unlike the Minister, Samuel had the sense to keep his speech quite short, lest he lose the attention of everyone present as well.

Amelia's speech was similarly well practised. And similarly short, to the point. But it was a lot less self-centred. She took the time to thank all the professors, and her classmates, for the time they spent with her, and how they helped her grow as a person.

And then it was Christine's turn.

Like the Head Boy and Girl, Christine had prepared what she wanted to say. What she thought she wanted to say. Had memorised it, and prepared to give her sermon with as unstudied an air as possible. But when she passed Amelia, stood at the gilded owl podium where she'd seen Dumbledore give them talks and warnings and tell jokes, she tossed it aside completely.

She looked out over her classmates again. Her friends. Her housemates. Her teachers. And toward the back, she saw her parents this time. Dressed in their muggle best. Unashamed of who they were and that they didn't fit among the robed people surrounding them.

Christine decided in an instant that they deserved better than the short platitude she'd come up with to please the Headmaster and Professor Snape.

And she began in a manner which no one, not even she, had expected.

"My mother liked to say that the only obligation any of us really have is to, by the time we die, have made the world a little better than it was when we came into it," as she spoke she looked out at the faces that were all turned up to look at her, confused and a little surprised at the way her talk was going, "She died when I was only eight, but she had, without doubt, don just that during her lifetime. Short as it was."

"I've known you all for seven years. That's almost as long as I knew my mother. In that time, we've all gone through a lot. A great deal of it was hardly fun. And we didn't always see eye to eye about any of it. But all of those things made it clear to me that each of us has the ability to make the world a little brighter, in our own ways."

"Thank you all, for giving me the opportunity to know you. And for making my life a little better."

There was applause as she finished and returned to her seat. But Christine hardly noticed it. She was too busy trying not to notice the tears in the eyes of her friends and parents. And trying not to tear up herself. So, she didn't realise that her speech had gotten the best reception yet.

Christine wasn't in the mood to care, right then.

The rest of the event went by in a blur. Dumbledore's speech was poignant and hilarious as always. The Sorting Hat was placed on the stage and performed a song that made everyone present tear up in nostalgia. It was the last time they would all be present to listen to its performance.

Christine was the last student to receive her certificate. When she did, their time as students was officially over.

Then there were pictures and hugging and actual tears. With her parents, her friends, and even their families. Uncle Ted, Tonks' dad, insisted on getting a million and one pictures of Christine and Tonks. And then another few hundred of them with the family, and all of their friends.

Christine was so happy that she didn't mind being directed about as much as she usually would.

Eventually the flurry of activity died down, and everyone was directed out to the Entrance Hall so they could get on the carriages to the station. It was only then that she had any real opportunity to speak to her friends again.

"I never knew you had a knack for public speaking," Tonks teased as she bumped their shoulders together on the steps to the castle, "And here I thought we told each other everything. I'm pissed."

Christine laughed and nudged her back, telling her to shag off.

"No, seriously," Anna agreed as she joined them with her usual grin, "How long'd it take you to come up with that. It was genius. I swear I saw Evelyn crying."

"Oh, shut your bloody mouth Anna."

They teased and laughed with each other until it was their turn to claim their carriages and they had to split up to go with their families. It was then that Christine made a decision. It was a bit spur of the moment by her standards, but that had been working out for her pretty well that day, so she went with it.

"I'll go," she told Anna.

Instantly realising what Christine was talking about, she squealed in delight and threw her arms around her shorter friend, completely enveloping her in a tight hug.

"I'll send you the details by owl once I get home. No backing out now you've agreed!"

"I know, but someone has to make sure you don't get arrested."

Christine knew damn well that Anna was too smart to ever get herself arrested, but it was an old joke between them, so they both laughed heartily as they separated. Christine joined Tonks and their parents while Anna climbed into a carriage with hers, and off they went. Leaving Hogwarts for what was probably the last time.


	8. Est-ce Que Vous Vous Amusez?

**Chapter Seven**

 **Est-ce Que Vous Vous Amusez?**

* * *

Summary:

Portkeys are terrible, and so are her friends. Christine should really try to make better choices, but at this point, she doesn't think she ever will.

* * *

Anna was prompt in sending the details of the trip to Christine. There weren't many. Just when and where the portkey was going to take them to the little town where Nicolas Flamel grew up. The location and shared costs of the cottage they were renting for their stay. And the day they were planning to go to the famous alchemist's first workshop.

As for anything else the trip might entail, Anna said they'd 'go with the flow'. Decide the rest when they got there. Be spontaneous.

Because that always worked out _so_ well for them in the past.

Christine would've pointed that out if they'd been face to face. But since they were communicating by letter, she didn't bother. Just told Anna that she'd be there and that she'd cleared the trip with her family. In fact, they were more excited for her than she was herself. And they assured her they didn't need her to help around the shop at all.

Which is how Christine found herself in a run-down park - well, it used to be a park, now it was just a collection of overgrown and withered greenery - in an inconspicuous neighbourhood in London looking for a broken tea pot. They shouldn't have let Francis in charge of setting up the portkey. Really. A broken tea pot? How in the hell were they supposed to find that by the deadline in a park this big?

"The Department of Magical Transportation really loves fucking with people, don't they?" Trish grumbled as the two of them tried to search through the underbrush with rucksacks slung over their backs.

"For those poor bastards in the Portkey Office, I'm sure it's their greatest pleasure in life," Christine agreed as she kicked around her, hoping to hit the damn thing, and find it without toppling herself over from the weight imbalance.

Unfortunately, she had no luck in that effort.

Trish laughed and stood up straight to take a break from their search. Stretching out her back with a groan as something popped back into place.

"Just our luck that Francis thinks this is the most fun she's ever had. We shouldn't have made friends of these crazy people."

"Yeah, that really wasn't the best choice either of us ever made," Christine sighed and peeked around a tree stump, hoping the ministry workers got lazy and dumped it somewhere obvious. They hadn't. Cunts. "But there's no getting away from them now."

They looked around in companionable silence for another few minutes. Then Christine gave up and whipped out her wand. Trish looked at her questioningly. Even though they were all of age now, they weren't supposed to do magic in the muggle world. And while it was well known that Christine had a strident hatred for rules, she was normally level-headed enough to refrain from doing anything that would get her dragged in front of the Wizengamot.

"Screw it," she said to herself, and with a flick of her wand, summoned the portkey.

A chipped, dirty porcelain tea pot with a duckling pattern zoomed towards them from further into the park. It flew into Christine's hand and she caught it easily. She shrugged at Trish, who was still giving her that unimpressed, slightly worried, look.

"Nobody ever comes here until after dark. There's no way any of us'll be seen. Hardly a violation of the Statute of Secrecy at all," she explained and let herself flop down onto the stump so she could rest her legs. Shrugged off her rucksack.

Trish was still looking at her, but now she just seemed confused.

"Why would anyone come to a park after dark?" she asked with clear bewilderment.

"Never mind, muggle thing," Christine deflected easily. Luckily, that answer seemed to satisfy Trish.

Sometimes, Christine forgot just how sheltered and naive all of her friends could be. They were so clever and shrewd that it was often hard to believe they couldn't recognise a prime dealing space when they saw it. But, everyone at Hogwarts had been like that.

She checked her watch and smiled indulgently, "We've still got half an hour before this thing's ready to go. I think we can let the others have their fun for another while."

Trish set herself down next to her delicately and rested her bag by their feet, "I don't see why not. I'm tired of getting filthy for nothing."

Christine laughed, but she agreed wholeheartedly. She had no issue with getting her hands dirty. In fact, she found it pretty enjoyable more often than not. But only when it served a purpose. Getting absolutely destroyed with mud and dead plants when she could just summon what she wanted wasn't her idea of fun.

"Speaking of muggle things," Trish began with an air that made it clear that whatever Trish was getting at, it was important to her. So, Christine perked up, and rose enough from her lounging position that she could look Trish in the eye.

"When we get back, I want your help with something."

"Sure," Christine agreed easily. Trish had done so much for her over the years that Christine felt any hesitation to repay the favour would be shameful, "Mind if I ask why?"

"Course not," Trish replied with a grin, and a hopeful, determined look in her eyes, "I've got a business idea. I want to create a purely magical residential area in London. Prices in Diagon Alley are outrageous, and Knockturn Alley is just plain dangerous. I think it'll be pretty easy to carve out a niche."

Christine nodded along with Trish's plan. Her friend was right, it was a brilliant idea. And she realised why Trish would need her help, specifically, to make it a success.

"And I know London a lot better than you do," she concluded and it was Trish's turn to nod, "Especially the parts of muggle London you could take over without people getting too suspicious."

"And, you know, I want to make sure I don't end up buying in the middle of their version of Knockturn Alley."

"That too," Christine agreed with a laugh, "But tell me, is asking _me_ for help all part of you lot's plan to get me to do something with my life?"

Christine could see that Trish's grin took on a slightly guilty look, but didn't fade away. That was all the answer Christine needed. She sighed at the knowledge against her. Unsurprising, but not a very welcome circumstance.

"I know we're crowding you. But we're worried. It's just so strange, seeing you without a direction. Throwing every job offer you get in the fire," Trish told her, unabashed about her scheming about Christine.

Christine was annoyed, but she couldn't ignore how her friend's collective concern for her was touching.

"I don't want a job," Christine decided to confess, before this became A Thing, "I want a passion. Like you, Tonks, and Charlie have. I'll figure it out, eventually. No need for all this fuss."

"Alright, I'll lay off, as long as you help me corner the wizarding real estate market."

"Deal," they shook on it and went to gather the others so they weren't late for the portkey.

Christine was, admittedly, not the biggest fan of travelling by portkey. Or a fan of it at all. She'd only done it once, and that was enough. She'd rather avoid it whenever possible. But, though she was loathe to admit it, a portkey was the most convenient way to travel such a long distance in a large group like theirs.

So, when the duckling covered tea pot started glowing, she sucked it up and grabbed it along with her friends. And she didn't complain as the terrible sensation began, of some sort of hook being shoved into her abdomen and dragging her away in the direction of southern France.

Even if it was bloody fucking _awful_.

* * *

 **A/N -** The title of this chapter, 'Aren't You Having Fun?' is in French, and I don't speak French, at all. I was absolutely terrible at it in school. But since they were heading to France, I thought it'd be fun to give it a French title. I did my best with the translation, but there's a high likelihood I got it wrong. If I did, and you speak French, feel free to let me know, and maybe send me a correct translation.


	9. Café au Lait and Macarons

**Chapter Eight**

 **Café au Lait and Macarons**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Christine loved France, she loved flea markets, and she loved her friends. Hopefully, the combination wouldn't end in disaster.

* * *

Despite Christine's, justified, reservations, going with the flow worked out quite well for them. At least, it had for the first few days of the trip. They'd only been in the little town for three days. But they had been a wonderful three days. So, Christine found herself cautiously optimistic for the rest of their stay.

Her uncharacteristic optimism was, however, about to be tested.

The initial days of their holiday had been spent entirely in the wizarding area of the town. On their fourth day, though, Christine's friends decided they wanted to go and explore muggle France.

This was a decision that struck apprehension deep into Christine's heart. Her friends were all purebloods and half-bloods. But even her half-blood friends had spent very little time in the muggle world. Which, Christine supposed, was probably why they were all so eager to dive into it when they had the opportunity.

The problem was, they were all so magical. They didn't have a clue what a parking meter was, and they still giggled over muggle money. Which they all apparently found hilarious.

It was enough to make Christine quite certain they were all going to be arrested for breaking the International Statue of Secrecy before lunch. It was an inevitability Christine resigned herself to pretty quickly. Instead of dreading it, she had decided to enjoy the oncoming fuck up. And keep an eye out for any tidy escape routes along the way.

Maybe come up with a few believable excuses, too. Detour on a trip to Lourdes to cure their insanity? Her friends wouldn't like that one bit. But Christine thought the Muggle Worthy Excuse Office would like it.

And if they ended up making her use it, well, they deserved whatever she threw at them.

Because her friends fortunately had managed to retain some sense of self-preservation, Christine was unanimously nominated to be in charge of their outing. She had mentally prepared a day that would amuse the other girls and keep them all out of trouble. Though she didn't let on that she'd planned it all in advance.

They were supposed to be doing things spontaneously, after all.

Christine was happy to maintain the illusion, since it made Francis and Emily so giddy. But privately, she thought it was too much of a Gryffindor thing to do more than once.

If the girls suspected anything, they didn't mention it. In fact, they were delighted with Christine's choice of activity. She'd brought them to a flea market, which was joined in the morning time by the local farmer's market. When they saw the maze of stalls filled with everything and anything under the sun, they stopped complaining that Christine had woken them up so early.

They scattered, looking at everything that caught their attention with an almost childlike enthusiasm and curiosity. Any other part of town, and Christine was sure that behaviour would have drawn a lot of attention to them. But at an open air market like this, it was pretty much expected. Especially from tourists, which her friends obviously were.

Yes, they'd all dressed quite convincingly in muggle clothes. But it was too easy, still, to see that they weren't from the area. They were just too damn English to blend in with a place like this. And that could be said no matter if they were in the magical or muggle part of town.

For one, they didn't speak a word of French between them. Instead chatting and squealing in loud, excited English. For another, everything from their accents, to the way they carried themselves, and the way they dressed, screamed British. It was glaringly obvious to Christine right then that they'd never known anything different before.

Christine sometimes overlooked the possibility that not everyone had the same variety of experience as she did. But then she was reminded of it again and again. As she saw the stalls and people the other girls flocked to. Posh, bougie, or artisanal were the traits her friends felt most comfortable with. She watched them drink café au lait, and eat handmade, overpriced, creps and macarons with a small smile.

But once she was satisfied they were going to continue to behave themselves, Christine left them at it. She wandered off to a place in the market she'd be much more comfortable. Far away from the bourgeoisie hipsters her friends had fallen in love with over the last few hours. They were on the opposite end of the market place. Christine guessed they could stand the hipsters about as much as she could.

Christine stopped when she came to a boot selling beautiful scarves and shawls. Next to which there was a far more reasonably priced coffee truck. And outside them both was a fold out table. Around which a very intense game of snap was being played. The participants exclaiming in an effortless combination of French and Romani.

She relaxed and strolled into the stall with the scarves. The woman in charge of the place eyed her a bit suspiciously, but Christine ignored her. Focused instead on picking out a few presents for her step-mother and her little sisters from among the cloth and jewellery.

When she paid for them, and a few things for herself, she used the French her father taught her to speak to the woman. The woman raised an eyebrow at her, but Christine didn't react, and the shopkeeper seemed to relax a good deal.

Christine's primary school teacher had told her she sounded like a gypsy when she spoke French. The Parisian woman had meant it as an insult. But she had always wondered if it was true. She supposed she had her answer.

"I don't know you," the woman commented in Romani, clearly testing to see if Christine could understand the language.

"You don't," Christine replied in kind, "I'm just visiting."

The game outside had quietened down significantly. The shopkeeper obviously wasn't the only one curious about her anymore.

"How do you write yourself, child?" the woman asked, narrowing her eyes at Christine again.

Christine shrugged at her to show her lack of concern at the woman's unhidden wariness.

"Rumancek," she answered simply, and waited for the woman to return the favour.

She wasn't left waiting for long.

"Badi," she said without any ceremony, "Why do you speak French, you're Romanian?"

"My father taught me, his mother was from Bordeaux."

Badi nodded as she began to pack Christine's purchases into a paper shopping bag.

"What should we call you?"

"Kalo," she answered after a moment's thought.

Her parents and sisters had been the only people to call her by her Roma name before, but it felt right to give it to Ms. Badi.

"We'll see you again, Kalo," Badi said in parting.

Christine left the shop with a wave and grabbed herself a wonderful, reasonably priced coffee. When she left to find her friends again, it was with friendly waves of the other Roma bidding her goodbye.

As she walked away, Christine felt more like herself than she had since she left her home behind. Even if it was only for a short time. Whatever her friends had gotten up to in her absence, it was worth it.

* * *

 **A/N -** Rin here, I thought I should explain somehow why Christine was so angry with the muggle world, and why she hated government and social workers so much, when she thought McGonagall was one. To this day, Romani people face a lot of discrimination in Britain and Ireland. I've always thought of her father as being Roma, but I realised I never put it in the story at all. So, here it is. I hope this doesn't feel too sudden or like it doesn't fit. If it does feel like that, let me know and I'll work on it.


	10. Of Bloody Course

**Chapter Nine**

 **Of Bloody Course**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Christine should've known better than to leave her friends alone for more than a few minutes. But, she'd thought they were smart enough not to cause a ruckus over something _this_ simple.

* * *

Luckily, by the time Christine reached her friends again, they hadn't gotten the French Ministry of Magic called down on them. They had, however, somehow managed to greatly offend an old French woman who owned a stall which advertised homemade preserves.

Christine couldn't understand how it had happened. It couldn't have been over her wears being substandard. Because Christine could tell the look, the gorgeous smell emanating from the place, and the obvious pride the woman took in her creations, that the jams, jellies, and tarts were excellent. And she couldn't honestly come up with another scenario that would make the woman _that_ furious.

But still, Christine was on the hook to settle everything down.

It seemed the jam maker didn't speak much English. And she knew her friends couldn't understand a word of the expletives the woman was hurling at them. So, Christine approached with her most innocent expression and as nonthreatening an air as possible.

When her friends turned to Christine on her approach, the woman decided to turn her attention to her as well. Christine put a stop to the yelling and the panic with a few well-chosen words and a placating gesture.

"I'm very sorry, Madame, that my friends upset you. But they meant no offense, I'm sure," she said to the elderly woman as calmly as she could while sending a glare over her shoulder at the girls.

The shopkeeper settled a little, but she still looked like a rearing dragon about to incinerate her girlfriends. Christine too the opportunity for what it was, and went in for the kill. So to speak.

"I'm sure whatever they said was a misunderstanding. You know how the English can be," she continued with a smile, "They're good girls, really."

The woman huffed and deflated from her rage. She folded her arms huffily and waited for Christine to keep going. Clearly not completely placated by her efforts so far.

"What did they say?" Christine asked gently, hoping to get the route of the problem, which was likely to be the only way to settle the situation once and for all.

"They insulated my work," the woman snapped, sending a glare of her own at the girls standing in a loose huddle behind Christine.

"How? I can see your products are excellent."

That finally got the shopkeeper to let go of her anger. The woman let her arms fall to her sides and the purse of her lips softened to the point it was no longer a death knoll. Christine had been right to try and soothe the pride this woman had in her work, because it was only then that she looked willing to talk to Christine, rather than shout at her.

"They were laughing, and talking about some woman. Kitty, or um, Kit. That was it," she said bitterly, "Speaking of my work like it was _nothing_."

Oh. That explained it. For a group of people so intelligent and consistently polite, they could be unbelievably tactless. She sighed audibly, and raised a hand to rub at her temple. Of bloody fucking course they'd do something like this.

"I am truly sorry, Madame," Christine told her sincerely, reaching out to pat her arm kindly, and the woman allowed it, "But I am right, they meant you and your work no offense. My name is Kit, I am who my friends were speaking of. I sometimes bake and make jams. Any comparison they made to yours was meant as a compliment, I assure you."

Christine was able to deescalate the situation very quickly after that. Within a few minutes Ms. Degaradant went from a raving enemy to a kindly acquaintance. They left the market with a formidable new acquaintance and two delicious smelling tarts.

"I don't know how you do it, Kit," Emily commented cheerfully as she peeked into the box containing a black cherry tart and sniffing delightedly, "Making mean old ladies fall in love with you. It's a real gift."

"Thanks," Christine said with a grin, "But it's pretty easy to do why you don't insult them before you try and chat them up for free food."

"Point taken," Harrio laughed and slapped Emily's hand away from the box, "No eating that until after dinner, you heathen."

"Ow, you're such a drag."

"Oh, shut up the two of you, you're the ones who insulted the woman in the first place," Anna said with a roll of her eyes, "Stop fighting over the pie and say thanks, already."

"We didn't mean to," Emily argued petulantly, "That lady's wicked crazy."

"No, she's not, she's just sick of tourists talking shit about her and her food," Christine clarified, "You guys were like the fifth group this afternoon to do it."

"Oh great, we were the last straw. Just our luck," Tara grumbled and gave Harrio a light, playful kick to the shin, "You tow have just fantastic timing."

The rest of their day went as well as their morning had. Without any more little hiccups involving suspicious, angry, or offended locals. Thank god. Christine didn't think she'd be able to pull together the necessary politeness to settle another dispute so soon. She was just too damn tired. They'd been walking around all day, and by the time they made it back to the cottage, her feet were starting to kill her.

It had been a good day. In spite of the situation with the baker toward the end of the afternoon. But the morning had been great. And the evening was shaping up to be a tranquil, beautiful night.

Besides, they'd gotten two tarts out of it.

Even so, it was a great relief to finally throw herself onto one of the overstuffed couches in the drawing room. And then be piled upon by Anna and Tara. She laughed and tried to fight them off, but she knew it was a useless effort. They would only move when they wanted to. And they declared they were perfectly comfortable. Christine made a good pillow, even if her elbows were bony as shit.

* * *

 **A/N -** I know I've painted the other Slytherin girls to be a bit silly in this and the last chapter, but they're not, and we're going to see that in the rest of the story. But I wanted to show them as being a bit clueless and a little naive when it came to the muggle world. So we could see how different their upbringing was to Christine's.


	11. These Late Night Talks

**Chapter Ten**

 **These Late Night Talks**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Christine's friends can be incredibly nosy. Anna in particular. But, she knew they had her best interests at heart. Despite how absolutely irritating it could be.

* * *

Christine should have realised she would be able to get through a month in the company of her friends, without any adult supervision, and avoid any more talk about her future. Or lack thereof, to be more specific.

Holidays were supposed to be all about relaxation and forgetting, at least for a short time, about all the problems that were waiting for you when you returned home. As far as Christine had heard, at least. Apparently, the other Slytherin girls had never gotten the memo. Because they had very different ideas about what they should be doing while they were all away.

A more perfect chance to gang up on Christine over the fact that she was, apparently, throwing away her future would never present itself again. That it was the last thing Christine wanted to talk about during their trip didn't matter. Giving up such an opportunity would be foolish, and they were anything but that.

One way or another, they were going to get to the bottom of it. Christine knew her friends well enough to know that they wouldn't give up on the topic until they'd gotten a satisfactory answer.

And 'I'll figure it out', was far from satisfactory. Even if it had managed to hold them off for a few days.

Which is how Christine knew exactly what Anna wanted to have a heart to heart about when she crept into her room a few nights later, when everyone else was asleep. Christine doubted anyone was actually asleep. They were all too acquainted with each other's sleeping habits for that story to fool anyone present. But it had become a way of saying they needed some privacy. Or just some time apart from the madness that tended to happen when they were all together.

And that made a perfect opportunity for Anna to corner Christine all by herself. Without any of the others around. So, Christine wouldn't have any excuse for her usual bravado. And that'd leave Christine with no choice to be sincere.

Anna knew her too well for her to get away with any such false audacity.

So, when she sat herself down on the end of Christine's bed, they both knew what was about to go down between them. That didn't make it any easier, though. For either of them.

Christine sighed, and gave Anna a look which clearly said to get on with it.

With an uncertain smile, Anna obliged.

"It's scary, you know," she began, nudging Christine with her foot, "Seeing you like this. For all of us."

Christine couldn't help but scoff at that. She understood that Anna was trying to be serious, she really did. But it was just too unbelievable that her friends, the girls who were in their own ways, the personification of Slytherin ambition, were scared by her lethargic behaviour. To Christine, it was a simply ridiculous notion.

"I'm not joking, Kit," she told her with a frown, leaning toward her and forcing Christine to giver her full attention to her, "You always undervalue yourself. And you've never had any idea how important you are to us. Or how much everyone else looks up to you."

"Anna," Christine tried to halt her ranting on about how much she had to live up to, "I'm her friend, not some idol they spend half their lives fawning over."

Anna refused to be stalled.

"You're both," she declared.

Christine gave up to argue the point, and flopped back onto the pillows at the head of her bed. It was a nice bed, she thought distractedly. Fluffy pillows, soft mattress, and a soft duvet. And it was a double. Much roomier than the four poster she had at Hogwarts, and the bunk beds she shared with her little sisters.

"Look, you remember how it was back in first year?" she asked softly, knowing it was a set of memories all involved loathed to look back on. It wasn't their finest hour. "Half our house was raised by pureblood fanatics. Me included. And Harrio. And you made each and every one of us eat every bad word we said about you. You made us all think differently."

Christine grimaced, hating thinking about those difficult few years after she'd first started at Hogwarts. How _angry_ she'd been. How she'd taken that anger out on any and every one of her fellow students that pissed her off. Like she said, it wasn't her finest hour.

"What's that got to do with anything?" she snapped, the feeling of guilt and shame making her too angry to bother being polite to Anna over the issue. Luckily, her friend knew how her mind worked well enough not to take the outburst personally.

"I'm saying you're the most ambitious person I know. And considering who I hang around with, that's saying something," Anna told her as she grabbed Christine's arms and forced her to sit up again, "I told you you'd never change my mind about you. You did. It's the same with everything else people say you can't do."

Christine smiled at last. Anna was right about her. Doing the impossible. Proving people wrong. That was one of her greatest pleasures in life. She couldn't deny it, even if she wanted to. Which she never would.

"I'm still not sure what you're getting at."

Anna smiled at her return and just kept going, not ready to get her point.

"Remember when Snape told you it wasn't possible to get twelve Os when we were in fifth year, tried to get you to drop a few subjects?"

"Yeah, I didn't listen," Christine confirmed her friend's reminiscence, though she still wasn't entirely sure where Anna was going with this conversation.

She'd expected a lecture. Another round of urging her to take one of the numerous job offers she'd been receiving since half way through their seventh year. Not whatever kind of weird pep-talk this was turning into.

"And you got twelve Os."

"I did."

"You didn't even give up any of your extra subjects, which was mental," Anna chuckled, "Who really needs to know that much about Magical Theory and Muggle Music?"

"Anyone who wants to know more about than anyone else about them," was Christine's answer to that.

It was the same answer she always gave whenever one of them asked that question. Something like that could easily get annoying. But Christine knew they only meant it as a joke, and to get her to say exactly that.

"But you don't want to work with anyone who's reached out to you over the last six months. Hell, most of our classmates'd run starkers through Diagon Alley for some of the positions they're begging you to take."

"I guess I just don't have the same kind of ambition as the rest of you do," Christine sighed, more than sick of the subject by now.

"Exactly," Anna said with relish, clearly, she'd gotten to her point, "You don't want any of them cause they're easy. Tell me, when was the last time you've done anything the easy way?"

Christine shrugged. She couldn't think of any time she'd gone the easy route. If she wanted things easy for herself in school, she sure as hell wouldn't have been sorted into Slytherin. And she couldn't remember any incident before or after that when she bowed out or took a shortcut when things got hard.

Which seemed to be the exact point Anna was intent on making. Given the way she positively lit up when Christine failed to come up with an example.

"Alright, spill. What're you getting at?" Christine relented.

"You need to find something impossible, then do it," she declared happily, and very proud of her epiphany, "It's the only way you'll be happy with what you do."

Christine laughed at that. It was just like Anna to come up with a solution like that. It was the ace up her sleeve, always, seeing differently to everyone else. And coming up with solutions to problems were so out of the box they went right into the category of pure and utter insanity. Strangely, they almost always worked out.

"You don't think I should go work for the Ministry, like Trish? Or Emily? Harrio? Come on, tell me you don't think that'd be just perfect," Christine teased, reaching out and poking Anna in the ribs with her big toe.

"Fuck no," Anna declared once she'd stopped giggling.

Christine knew Anna's strengths all right, but she knew her weaknesses too. And being extremely ticklish was probably her biggest one.

"Why not? Am I not the perfect model of wizarding society?" Christine joked, knowing the ridiculousness of the idea of her, of all people, being an example of a jolly, law abiding witch.

"Ha! Way too many rules," Anna wagged her finger at Christine exaggeratedly, "You'd end up getting fired, or staging a coup and becoming a dictator within a few months. Tops."

Christine laughed heartily at the image of her that Anna had just painted. It was a pretty damn accurate one, if she said so herself. If Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape's combined efforts couldn't get her to follow the rules, no ministry bureaucrat had a hope. Getting sacked, or instigating a hostile take-over, would be two outcomes too likely to happen if she ever got severe enough brain damage to make her think entering the ministry was a remotely good idea.

Their little late-night chat took a much better turn after Anna had aired her feelings on the matter of Christine's job prospects. The two of them stayed up most of the night, well into the morning, talking about everything and anything else they could think of. Laughing and joking about their families, their former years, their old teachers.

Like had happened often during their later Hogwarts years, Christine had one of her friends fall asleep in her bed, mid-sentence. Just like then, Christine didn't bother to move Anna. And she didn't bother to move herself either. There was plenty of room. She fell asleep right where she was, too.

* * *

 **A/N -** Hello again, this author's note isn't here to try and explain my meaning or any fuck ups. It's here so I can ask all of you a question. I've been wracking my brain, trying to figure out what kind of wand Christine would have. Usually, I can make a pretty good guess as to what would suit my characters, but I'm stumped. If anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear them!


	12. Au Revoir, Mon Ami

**Chapter Eleven**

 **Au Revoir, Mon Ami**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Her last day in France came along much more quickly than she had anticipated it would. And while she was looking forward to returning home, Christine would also really miss the people she had recently met when she did.

* * *

Their time in France passed by quickly. More quickly than Christine had thought it would. Since Christine was a much earlier riser than her friends, she spent her mornings in the little village with Ms. Badi and the other Romani at the market.

Those were wonderful mornings. Mrs. Badi didn't have much in the way of help, so Christine helped her set up the stall. She then spent the rest of the morning playing cards with Augustin, Renoir, Fontaine, and Duval. The same group of men she'd seen playing snap, of all things, the first time she visited the market.

They were an extremely entertaining group of old men. Filled with hilarious stories about the exploits of their youths. And they were nothing if not delighted to be joined in their daily game by a pretty young woman, as they told her countless times.

Even their attempts to set her up with their numerous grandsons and nephews were pretty funny. They seemed like good men, Christine had to admit. And she could tell better than most. A quick peek into the minds of her companions was enough to tell her what was fond exaggeration, and what was true. What she saw was that they were good men, excepting a bad egg or two. And even those were just a little off the beaten path, and likely to work their lives out at some point.

She'd even met a few of them over the last few weeks. By design, she knew, but she didn't hold that against her new friends. It was just how their people were. Families were rather heavily involved in their young memebers' love lives. It was nothing she wasn't used to at home.

They all seemed very interested in their grandfathers' plans once they saw her. It was very flattering. And the interest wasn't entirely one-sided, when it came to one or two of them. But Christine knew what they were looking for. A wife. A family. A happy life, quiet and uneventful.

Christine didn't know exactly what she wanted out of her life just yet. But she did know she wasn't ready to get married yet. Or have kids. And she wanted something exciting, eventful, invigorating. Anna was right, Christine wanted to do something impossible. And that didn't fit with what any of them seemed to want.

So, Christine didn't lead them on. A little innocent flirting was all well and good. They knew nothing was actually going to come from it.

Since the market always closed by the time the girls normally rose, Christine never had to choose between spending time with her old friends and her new ones. She would help Ms. Badi close up for the day, say her goodbyes, and return to the cottage in time for breakfast with the girls. It was a routine that established itself very quickly.

Christine would miss it when she and the girls went home.

It was something that was far from a secret. The girls knew exactly how Christine was spending her mornings. She'd even invited them along, but they'd declined. It was too early for them to commit to on a daily basis.

That was fine by Christine. She had more than enough time to spend with all of them. She didn't think her friends had ever been so appreciative of her sleep schedule, or lack thereof, before.

Her insomnia had been a rather large point of contention in their early years at school. Even when they'd become close, it had only been met with concern and grudging acceptance.

Even though it was the last day of their stay in France, Christine felt no need to break that routine. Not until they got the portkey back to London.

She showed up at the usual time, just as Ms. Badi was arriving herself. And helped her set up just as she usually did. They chatted as they set up, and by the time they were done Christine was nearly in stitches laughing. Ms. Badi was a sharp-witted woman. She reminded Christine of her own grandmother in that respect.

Then she helped set up the card table for the good old boys. Since it was her turn to deal, she shuffled as they bickered and took their seats. Preparing herself for a hell of a game. Lovely grandfathers they may be. But when it came to cards they were a bunch of bloodthirsty sharks. Legilimency or no, they were a always a tough crowd. Which made it all the more fun.

Their goodbyes that morning were much more heartfelt than normal. It was the last time they'd see each other for the foreseeable future. So, allowances for strong emotion had to be allowed, Christine supposed.

It was when she was helping Ms. Badi put everything back in her van that things took on a more serious tone. The old woman turned and looked at her with a strange expression as Christine shut the van's door. She was worried about something. Christine didn't have to use legilimency to know that. She could've used it to see what was bothering her friend.

Since Ms. Badi was planning on talking to her about it anyway, Christine didn't bother. Just waited for Ms. Badi to gather her words. It took a few minutes, but her patience was rewarded soon enough.

"There have been some worrying signs lately," was what she eventually began with, "I'm sure you and the other Rumanceks have seen it too."

Christine nodded in confirmation. She and her family had seen some troubling things in their divination as of late. Something powerful and terrible was brewing. They couldn't say when it would come to fruition. Or even what it was. But they were certain something was coming.

"You're young, you don't ever remember seeing these particular signs before. Do you, Kalo?" she asked with a sigh and leaned against the van.

"No, I don't. But my grandmother was terrified when she saw them," she shared with Ms. Badi, "I've never seen her scared before then."

"They are the signs that warned us about Grindlewald and Hitler, back in the thirties. And Voldemort, in the seventies," she informed Christine, "And of others who came before them."

This was news to Christine. Her grandmother hadn't shared with her why those readings had scared her so much. It made sense, now, why her grandmother had reacted so badly. What they meant was enough to scare Christine as well.

"Every time someone who wanted to rid the world of us, those are the warnings we receive from the ancestors," Ms. Badi said shakily.

"So either Voldemort isn't dead, or another 'Dark Lord' is on the way," Christine concluded.

Ms. Badi nodded solemnly.

"We don't know where this is going to happen?"

"No. The ancestors can only tell us so much, child."

"I know," she agreed, "But when it comes to things like this, it'd be nice to have something to go on. Wouldn't it?"

Ms. Badi smiled grimly in agreement. They were quiet for a time. Both contemplating what this meant for their people in the near future. It didn't look good, however she thought about it.

But they knew it was coming. They could prepare. Get organised. Do something to try and minimise the inevitable casualties that would come from it. She was a little at a loss for how to do so at that moment in time. Too floored by the revelation to think straight.

"You need to write me regularly once you return to England. And to any of your family still in Romania," Ms. Badi instructed her, and Christine agreed readily, "We need to keep each other informed about what is happening around the world."

"I'll talk to Buncia when I get home. Then write to you, let you know what she has to say about it," Christine assured her, "I might write to Dumbledore as well. He respects our people's ways, and he could have some insight."

"You really believe he respects us?"

"I know he does. And he was instrumental in taking down Grindlewald and Voldemort," she reminded Ms. Badi, "He'll help if he can. He's never believed Voldemort died, he would consider the warning a favour."

"Alright then, let me know what he has to say," she agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Christine could understand that reluctance. It was an incredibly rare thing to find a wizard who didn't look down on their people for one reason or another. One who actually respected them was a very difficult thing to believe. She didn't believe it at first, either. But Christine had to come to know Dumbledore well enough to know he genuinely did have respect for them.

With that agreement, Christine and Ms. Badi shared a final goodbye. Then went their separate ways, for the time being. Christine was sure it wouldn't be the last time they would see each other.


	13. Old People are Terrible

**Chapter Twelve**

 **Old People are Terrible**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Christine's first order of business when she got back to London was to hug her parents and sisters. The second was to give them their much-anticipated presents. But third, was to speak with her grandmother about something much more serious.

* * *

Christine kept her word to Ms. Badi when she returned to London. The first thing she did, after greeting her family, was call her grandmother. She wasn't very happy that Christine had been informed about the ancestors' warnings to them. But she did eventually admit that she agreed with Ms. Badi. And even agreed to write to Ms. Badi herself about the issue.

That was a surprising offer from her grandmother. But it was a very welcome one. It could only help things for the two matriarchs to be directly in contact with each other. Using Christine as a middle man would be too likely to cause some sort of miscommunication down the line.

A few days after that conversation, she got a letter from Ms. Badi. Thanking her for keeping her word. And letting Christine know that they'd agreed to share information, and to make contact with others within their community. It was good news. Communications between parts of their community had broken down after Voldemort's defeat. It was about time they rectified that.

She had another conversation with her grandmother later that day. In person, this time. Christine wen to her grandparents' flat after getting a call from her grandmother to come by.

She unlocked the door with a wave of her hand, and walked in. She called out to her grandparents to let them know it was her, and went to start the kettle boiling on the stove. Her grandmother came in just as the water came to the boil, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. Christine returned the gesture after she poured the tea and set down the kettle.

"What's up Bunica?" she asked as she carried the tea tray through to the sitting room, "Anything I can do to help?"

Mrs. Rumancek smiled and patted Christine on the arm. She didn't say anything until she'd taken her seat and accepted a biscuit from the plate Christine had laid out on the tray. When she did speak, it was with a heavy severity that Christine didn't normally associate with her doting grandmother. If Christine hadn't already been worried about the situation that would've done it.

"I've been writing to your friend Ms. Badi. She's a good woman, I think. You made a good choice befriending her, my dear."

"Thank you, Bunica," Christine accepted her grandmother's praise, "I do believe she is a great woman."

"Yes," Mrs. Rumancek agreed, "We have discussed what you suggested, writing to Dumbledore. We've agreed that you should. Working with wizards this time might be for the best."

The easy admission that Christine was right brought a satisfied smile to her face. It was a rare thing for Mrs. Rumancek to admit that anyone was right when it meant saying she was wrong. So, you had to savour those moments when they arose.

Christine knew what her grandmother change her mind, but she wanted to hear her say it. She wasn't going to let any of her family ignore the fact that she'd been saying things like that for years. Her grandmother realised that was what she wanted. After giving a heavy sigh, Mrs. Rumancek gave in and said what Christine wanted to hear.

"Yes, I agreed because of you and your friends from school," she told her, "Because of how they changed. The fact that they call me Bunica now, too."

"And the fact that I told you they would accept us, and they do. So do my aunt and uncle. And my teachers."

"Yes Kalo, you showed me that we could work with them," Mrs. Rumancek told her with an exasperated sigh, "You have eternal gloating rights."

That may have seemed like a joke. But in the Rumancek family, that was a real thing that they did. And when you were told by Bunica that you had bragging rights, that was official. You could brag about being right for the rest of your life. And nobody could do or say anything about it. It was frankly, great, when you were the one with the bragging rights, as she did on several matters. When you were on the other side, however, it could get pretty annoying.

"So, you want me to write to Dumbledore. Anything in particular you want me to say?" she asked, because she found it hard to believe that her grandmother called her over just to tell her to write a letter.

"No," Mrs. Rumancek shrugged, "You know the man better than I do. I trust you know how best to tell him of this matter."

"Then what else did you want to talk to me about?"

Her grandmother sent her a wicked smile, and Christine instantly knew she'd made a mistake by asking that question. And she realised why it was a mistake at the same time. Her grandmother has been talking to Ms. Badi. That they kept their conversation to strictly business was highly unlikely. She dreaded what she knew what was coming next.

"Ms. Badi tells me there were a few young men who caught your interest over there," she began still grinning.

Christine groaned. This was going to be very uncomfortable. For her. Her grandmother would undoubtedly enjoy this immensely.

"I could write to her and arrange something," she suggested gleefully, "The interest is mutual, as far as Ms. Badi knows. It wouldn't take long."

"Bunica, no!" she yelled, embarrassed and outraged, "Don't you dare!"

"Why not?" she teased, "You don't want any of those young men? What's wrong with them?"

"No Bunica, I don't. I was just having a bit of fun. There's nothing wrong with them, but I'm eighteen, I don't want to get married!" Christine exclaimed, a little frantically.

Her grandmother started laughing at her, and Christine threw a cushion at the older woman. That only made Mrs. Rumancek laugh even harder. Safe to say, Christine wasn't very pleased with how the conversation was going. But she could only suffer through it until the embarrassing ordeal was over with.

Mrs. Rumancek definitely had her fun with the whole thing. But she did, at length, let it go. Christine was immensely relieved when that happened. The rest of her tea with her grandmother went much more pleasantly. And half an hour later, Christine left her grandparents' flat to head back home and write to Dumbledore. She could only hope the old professor had something of a plan to deal with what was coming.


	14. Back to Business

**Chapter Thirteen**

 **Back to Business**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Now that her holiday is over, Christine has to get back to the business of daily life. Planning for the rise of genocidal maniacs, negotiating with goblins, and wrangling owls. All in a day's work. But that doesn't mean life can't still take Christine by surprise.

* * *

When Christine returned from her grandmother's her day was far from over. Her first order of business was to write Dumbledore, as her grandmother had requested. It was a bit of an odd letter to write to your old headmaster, if she thought about it. But, ehh, her life wasn't exactly normal. This didn't stand out so much in comparison.

When she sealed the envelope, and went to fetch Balaur, Christine did feel a little better about the whole situation. Doing something about it, even something so small, made it seem much more manageable. Like it was something she could stand against and stop. Not some unstoppable fated apocalypse.

The conversation with her grandmother, and the letter from Ms. Badi, had helped in that regard as well. It was solid, concrete proof that even if Dumbledore wouldn't help, she wouldn't stand alone. Christine always knew her family would stick with each other through anything. And that her people would always band together in times of trouble. But there was a difference between knowing something and seeing it with your own eyes.

Like how you knew Dementors existed, and brought out unhappiness. But you never really knew what they were, or how much of an effect they had, until you met one in person. It was a very depressing comparison, Christine would admit. But it was, she felt, accurate.

Once she had harangued Balaur into taking the letter to Dumbledore - Balaur had been on several long journeys to France lately and didn't appreciate his sleep being interrupted - Christine had to go get dressed up in her wizarding finery.

This was something she never liked, because robes were horribly cumbersome. Muggle clothes were just more convenient. And she couldn't understand wizard's insistence on sticking with such outdated clothing. Usually she was able to get away with wearing a dress or mini skirt and boots under an open robe, so it was more like a coat. And got in the way less. And the stupid high collar didn't choke the life out of her.

Ugh. She hated robes.

But she had to wear them properly that day. Because she was going with Trish to a meeting at Gringotts. And the Gringotts goblins were a notoriously judgemental lot.

She would rather not have to go through this whole ordeal of meetings and negotiations. But they had to get the gold for Trish's real estate plans from somewhere. And even their combined inheritance wouldn't be enough to pay for all the extensive planning permissions and the building itself. So, a loan from the goblins was their best option. As much as Christine wished it wasn't.

Don't get her wrong, she had nothing against goblins in principle. But she had an ingrained hatred of bankers. Her experiences with them in the muggle world were all pretty negative. And it was something she had yet to let go of, but had carried with her into the wizarding world. She knew that kind of prejudice was extremely damaging to her and to others. Christine was trying to let go of it, but all of the goblins she had interacted with thus far had thoroughly succeeded in creeping her out.

Not to mention they kept dragons prisoner in their tunnels. And 'trained' them through torture. That was a fact that alone was enough to bring forth a level of hatred that made Christine feel rather uncomfortable in herself.

Which left Christine with several reasons she would prefer not to interact with the Gringotts goblins any more often than necessary. But Trish was so excited about her project, and determined to see it through. Christine wasn't going to disappoint her over something so damn stupid.

So she forced herself into the least comfortable set of robes she owned that was still good enough for the meeting. It was nice, if completely not her style. White silk trimmed in black. So it wasn't quite as stifling as other robes she owned. Still had that ridiculous high collar, though. Then apparated off to Diagon Alley to meet Trish at the Leaky Cauldron. A place that was also very much not her scene.

She'd take a muggle club over a stuffy old pub with overpriced, boring drinks any day. They didn't even have vodka in the Leaky Cauldron, for fuck sake. What kind of pub didn't serve vodka? Honestly.

In her opinion, their lack of appreciation for vodka was very near the top of her list of things wrong with the wizarding world. Yes, she kept a list. And yes, by the time she graduated Hogwarts it was quite extensive. The first, and still most frustrating, entry of which was quills. Just why wizards still used them was beyond her. Had they never heard of a pencil?

Christine got quite a few looks as she appeared in Diagon Alley and made her way to the pub. It was something she had gotten used to. As the last of the Black family who carried the family name, she got a lot of attention in the wizarding world. Tonks Aunt Andy were lucky enough to avoid getting as many stares and whispers.

Andy got away with it because she'd been very publicly disowned. Tonks went almost unnoticed since she was just so different from what everyone thought the Black family was. Using her muggle-born father's name so proudly did a lot to help her on that end as well.

But Christine kind of came out of nowhere. The daughter of a woman they thought had died as a child. She was a Slytherin. A parselmouth. And she'd overheard the thoughts of people who thought she was almost a carbon copy of another of hear aunts. Bellatrix Lestrange. And that was a comparison that instantly put people on edge. With good reason. So, Christine couldn't blame them for it. And instead chose to ignore it.

But she was surprised to see that there was one person in the crowd who wasn't observing her with wary intrigue. Molly Weasley had just come out of an apothecary's and positively beamed when she caught Christine's eye. She was a lot less used to that kind of reaction outside of her relatively small circle of family and friends. But she returned Mrs. Weasley's smile, and waved back at her.

At her response Mrs. Weasley, followed by a floating stack of wrapped packages, came over to her through a slightly surprised crowd. Mrs. Weasley either didn't notice or didn't care about the looks she was getting, because she pulled Christine into a quick, but still warm, hug. That shocked Christine so much that she almost didn't respond.

Yes, Tonks had been very good friends with Charlie and her nephew, Rob. And still was, if her letters were anything to go by. But she hadn't exactly been close to the boys. All she and Rob ever did when they were in the same room was argue. And there was that time she lost her temper and broke an antique vase over Rob's head. Not one of her finest moments.

It was quite possible that Mrs. Weasley hadn't heard about that incident. But even if she hadn't, Christine didn't think the woman had any reason to be this nice to her. She was pretty sure Rob and Charlie wouldn't have had much of anything good to say about her at home to give Mrs. Weasley the good opinion of her she seemed to have.

"Hello dear, it's so nice to see you again. Tonks was telling me you were in France for a while with the girls from your dormitory. Did you all have a good time?"

"Yeah, we went to Nicolas Flamel's first workshop. That was great. And I got to meet some old family friends when I was in the area, too. That was really nice."

"Oh, yes, Rob did mention you were interested in alchemy," Mrs. Weasley commented to Christine's ever-increasing surprise.

"Yeah, I am. It was one of my favourite subjects at Hogwarts, so it was great to learn more about the most famous person in the field."

"That's wonderful, dear." Mrs. Weasley said with an encouraging smile, "Now there was something I wanted to ask you. It's nothing serious, but I gave your aunt copies of some of the photos Arthur and I took of the four of you at your graduation. Andromeda thought your parents might like copies as well."

Christine blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered, "That'd be really nice Mrs. Weasley. Dad's fascinated with wizarding photos?"

"Well muggle ones don't move. He thinks the ones that do are brilliant."

"Bless him, I'll be sure to send them on," Mrs. Weasley paused uncertainly before asking, "Um, which post should I use? If you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, owl post is fine. Dad and Jess are well used to it by now."

"Thank goodness. I have no idea how to use the muggle post. Arthur's tried to explain it to me, but it's all quite complicated."

They shared a quiet laugh over that, when Mrs. Weasley checked her watch and gave a start.

"Oh dear, I must be going," she exclaimed, but before she left gave Christine a pat on the shoulder and said, "We're having a party for Charlie and Rob at the Burrow next week. To celebrate, you know, they both got brilliant job offers. You, Tonks, and your families are invited. I'll send on the details with the photos."

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley," Christine said, bewildered.

"I'll see you soon, dear."

With that, and one last pat on the arm, Mrs. Weasley rushed off. Leaving Christine confused, and a little late to meet Trish. Christine cursed under her breath and took off toward the Leaky Cauldron at a much quicker pace than she normally would. She quickly tapped the correct brick in the seemingly solid wall, and rushed through the pub's back entrance. Thinking as she did that it was awfully inconvenient she couldn't get her parents' flat hooked up to the floo network.

When she got into the main room of the pub she spotted Trish easily. Partly because her transfigured blue hair stood out a mile. The result of an accident in class that Trish decided she liked, and refused to let Professor McGonagall fix. But also because she and the other girls at her table were far and away the most formally dressed in the establishment.

They were the only people, aside from Christine herself, who were wearing dress robes. Theirs were arguably more formal, and definitely more traditional, than her choice. It wasn't enough to make Christine feel uncomfortably under dressed. But it did clearly show a difference between Christine and her friends. One that was visible at a glance.

But if she cared, she'd wear regular robes all the time instead of her muggle/wizarding mish mash. And she wasn't willing to compromise her pride in her heritage, or her comfort, to fit in with her friends. Especially not for the sake of passers-by.

Still, when she took a seat alongside her friends, it was with some confusion. As far as she'd known, it was only supposed to be her and Trish meeting up. And from the looks of it, they were dressed to come to the meeting with them. Which was news to her.

"As you can probably see, I've been recruiting," Trish began the conversation with a gesture at Harrio, Francis, and Penny.

The latter was someone Christine was particularly surprised to see. As far as she knew, Penny had been signed to the Hollyhead Harpies reserve team. She didn't know what Penny was coming with them to Gringotts for. But that'd be pretty rude to say, so she stuck with something non-committal.

"Yeah, looks like you've been busy the last few days."

"I thought the meeting would go our way much easier if we went in with more people on board. And with more financial backing already behind us," Trish explained in an excited rush, "And we can strategise and finalise everything before we go in. We've got plenty of time."

"You're all putting money into this?" Christine asked the other girls, "That's a big commitment to make out of nowhere."

Harrio shrugged, and Francis explained simply, "We know you and Trish better than almost anyone. So, we know you guys are a safe bet."

"We'll be rolling in galleons before you two are done," Penny added, "And since I can't be battered by bludgers forever, I need to invest in my future too."

"Harrio's gonna help us with the business and financial side of things. You never can have too many people working on a start up business like this."

"Alright then, where do you want to start?"


	15. A Strategy That's Goblin Proof

**Chapter 14**

 **A Strategy That's Goblin Proof**

* * *

 **Summary:**

The informal meeting at the Leaky Cauldron was going very well, which Trish was delighted about. But Penny's morals may cause a snag in their business plans.

* * *

As it turned out, Trish didn't need an awful lot of help planning out her presentation to the goblins. She already had all of her plans for her desired projects laid out to the tee. She didn't require much input from Penny and Francis, beyond the exact numbers of the funds they were planning to invest with her. Harrio and Christine, however, were much more involved in the planning.

As well as finalising the sum each of them was going to invest, Harrio looked over all of Trish's plans with a shrewd, critical eye. Everything from her risk analysis, expected costs and profits, to her five year plan for developing the company. She made corrections and suggestions as she saw fit. And Trish took the criticisms very well. Eagerly, even.

Christine wasn't very involved in that aspect of their strategizing. Her role was to look over the potential locations Trish had come up with for her developments. She rejected almost all of them. The only one she kept on the list was an abandoned development just outside of London. Everything else was tossed aside. Not for nothing, though, because Christine had much better locations in mind. Ones she'd be able to acquire for Trish at a steal.

Which was Christine's other job. To give them the information about those places and how much she thought they'd have to pay for them. And how much materials would cost if they bought them from muggle, rather than wizarding, sources. So they could decide with confidence which option would be most cost effective.

Buying from muggles would, without doubt, make the goblins raise their eyebrows. But if it would save them a significant amount of gold, the girls were completely certain they'd be all for it. Especially because, according to Christine's projections, they'd be able to purchase all of the materials they needed for less than half the price a wizarding vendor would charge them. But her figures did make Harrio very suspicious.

"That can't be right Kit," she said, tugging the parchment closer so she could scrutinise it more thoroughly, "I know I've got no clue about muggle money, but there's no way they could keep a business going selling at those prices. And who in their right mind would sell land for so little? In London?"

That made Trish frown, and take another look at Christine's notes as well, "Are you sure you can get us everything at these prices, Kit?"

Christine groaned internally. She'd been hoping to slip that by them. She knew that Francis, Harrio, and Trish wouldn't bat an eye at her plan to acquire the land and supplies under budget. Penny, on the other hand, she wasn't so sure about. She was a cheerful and sometimes mischievous person. Known to bend the rules, on occasion. But Christine couldn't predict how Penny would react to something quite that unsavoury. Even taking a quick peek into her mind didn't clear up the issue to Christine's satisfaction.

Still, she had to tell them something.

"That depends," she began hesitantly, flicking her eyes around the bar to make sure nobody was paying them too much attention.

"On?" Francis asked with a curious gleam in her eye.

Christine returned her gaze to her companions and lowered her voice, "How you feel about using legilimency on unsuspecting muggles for personal gain."

Harrio grinned at her, "Just dandy."

"Do what you've gotta do," Trish agreed with a shrug.

The only response Francis gave was a loud cackle and a hearty slap to Christine's shoulder. That was a clear seal of approval. But Christine still slapped her hand away, if only half heartedly. It was a motion routine to her at that point in their friendship. So much so that she'd done it before even thinking about the action.

Penny remained quiet, though. Appearing uncertain, and deep in thought. This was a reaction Christine had expected from her. And it was certainly better than if she had gaped and walked away from the impromptu meeting. That she wasn't looking at Christine in horror and abhorrence was also quite encouraging. Christine could have looked into Penny's thoughts again, to see which way she was leaning towards. But she respected Penny, and didn't want to invade her privacy any more that afternoon.

They all stayed just as quiet while giving Penny time to decide how she felt about the suggestion. She gave them each a nervous look, but relaxed significantly when none of them tried to press the issue. Realising she wasn't going to be pressured to agree with them let her take her time to think everything over properly.

After a few minutes of silence, Penny let out a sigh and leaned forward, elbows resting on the small table. She looked Christine in the eye bearing a serious expression. It was a more severe look than Christine had ever seen Penny wear.

"Before I say anything, I've got a few questions," she announced, equally as hushed as Christine had been in informing them of her plan.

"Hit me with them," Christine told her as encouragingly as she could.

"Wouldn't that really hurt them? Or drive them mad?" was what she began with, looking worried and almost afraid.

Christine was relieved that her concerns were something she could clear up. And she was quick to reassure Penny.

"I understand why you'd think that," she told Penny with a comforting smile, "But you should know that most wizards who use legilimency are incredibly bad at it. Or deliberately causing harm."

Penny blinked at her in surprise, her mouth falling open in shock.

This revelation didn't come as a surprise to the other girls. Christine had explained this to them and the rest of their dorm-mates years ago. When they were in their fourth year, just after they found out she was a legilimens.

"Legilimency wasn't invented to hurt people. Its original purpose was to let people communicate undetected. Or let them get information from someone _without_ anyone noticing," she explained patiently, "That's a well known fact among Romani and vampires. But wizards seem to have forgotten that a while ago."

"Wait," Penny interrupted, confused, "You know _vampires_?"

"My family's Romanian, of course we know a few vampires."

Penny conceded the point with a nod of her head. Then motioned for her to continue with a wave of her hand. Christine obliged. Heavily motivated by the fact that her family knew many more than 'a few' vampires. And she wasn't going to get into the how and why of it in a public place.

Mentioning them gave credence to her point. And she had an easily believed explanation, that anyone who overheard would take at face value. So she didn't consider mentioning it a risk.

"My grandaunt, Lilia, taught me how to use legilimency properly. I promise they won't feel a thing. They won't notice I've done anything."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely."

Penny looked extremely relieved by how certain Christine was about that. But she still looked concerned. Penny bit her lip, wringing her hands, before she continued with her questions.

"What about their, you know, livelihoods? Won't they lose a lot of money if you trick them like that? What if they're depending on that money to survive."

"Don't worry, I've considered that already," she told Penny with a confident grin, "All the properties on that list were seized by a huge international bank, to settle debts. And the company I'm planning to get the building materials from's a huge multinational company."

"I'm not really sure what that means," Penny admitted, blushing a little in embarrassment.

"That's alright," Christine shrugged, knowing that the rest of her companions probably didn't understand much of what she said either, "It means they're worth billions. Me tricking them won't affect their profits enough for anybody working there to notice."

Penny didn't look entirely convinced. Trish, Francis, and Harrio didn't either. But they were pretty unconcerned about it either way, so Christine didn't have to bother convincing them. Even so, she'd have to win over Penny with the three of them sitting there and listening in. If she managed to persuade them as well, then it'd only make her life easier.

"You see when muggles are building anything, they need a lot more materials than we do to get the job done. They can't duplicate or conjure anything with magic, so they need to buy every single brick they need," Christine informed her friends, repressing a sigh.

If only muggle studies was more accurate, then she wouldn't need to act like an encyclopedia for her friends half so much.

"The amount of supplies I'll be getting from them is tiny compared to the orders they're used to getting. They'll probably think we're just building an extension on a house."

"That can't be right," Penny argued with a frown.

"Ask your grandfather, Penny. Or any muggle born on the street. They'll all agree with me," Christine told her, actually sighing this time.

That made Penny fall silent again. She looked very thoughtful, and Christine could see that her levels of resistance to the plan were beginning to break down. Bit by bit. Eventually, she spoke again, albeit quite warily.

"So this plan of yours isn't going to get anyone, and it's not going to leave anyone destitute?"

"They won't feel a thing," Christine reiterated confidently, "And it's not going to ruin, or affect their businesses in any way."

Penny sighed, and rubbed a hand over her face. She looked very conflicted. Which was to be expected. She'd been raised in the wizarding world, a society where legilimency was not just looked down on, but all but outlawed. And she'd spent the last seven years in Gryffindor house. A group setting where any kind of subterfuge was considered cowardly, and immoral.

So, Christine decided to help her out with that internal conflict. In a way other than with logic, since that hadn't been as effective as she wanted it to be. Emotions seemed to be the way to go with Penny, as it was with many of her other peers who were sorted into Gryffindor.

For a group of people who valued bravery so much, they were a very emotional lot.

"Penny, you've known me for years, do you really think I'd willingly go out and torture people and ruin their lives?" she asked, leaning toward Penny again, staring at her until Penny finally met her eye, "Have I ever done anything that'd make you believe I'm capable of doing that to innocent people?"

That made Harrio interrupt with a grin, "Aside from everything you've ever one to torment Rob Prewett."

Christine rolled her eyes, "Yes, aside from all that."

"So, we should consider all interactions between you and Prewett as outliers?" Francis chipped in with a laugh.

"Consider it whatever you want," Christine groaned, "Can we get back to the point already?"

Unfortunately, the interruption had distracted Penny as well. One day, Christine would find better friends. Until then, she would have to suffer the consequences of associating with these lunatics.

"Did you really break that thousand galleon base over his head in sixth year?" Penny asked, curious, and looking less weighed down than she had since Christine brought up her plan.

"It wasn't my proudest moment, but yeah," Christine admitted wryly, "He pissed me off more than usual, and I kinda lost it on him. But I'm not going to start with their office decorations."

"Yeah," Trish agreed, "I couldn't see you attacking anyone but Prewett without a good reason."

Penny let out a deep breath and nodded, more to herself than to the rest of them. She looked around at each of them in turn. Then seemed to come to a decision on the matter. Though it seemed to be very difficult for her to do so. And almost as hard for her to get the words out.

"Alright," she forced out, "Alright, I believe you. And I'm okay with the plan as long as you keep your word, Kit."

"Have I ever gone back on my word before, Penny?" Christine asked her, with a smile to let her know she wasn't at all offended by Penny's condition for allowing them to go forward with her idea.

"No," Penny said returning Christine's smile, "But I just needed to make that clear."

"I totally understand," Christine told Penny with a wink.

"Good," Trish said, clapping her hands enthusiastically, "Now that we've got that little issue cleared up let's get on with business, shall we ladies?"

"Sure we can," Harrio agreed, "But if Kit's sure of her figures, then there isn't a lot more we need to talk about. Everything's pretty much settled, other than how we're going to go about your sales pitch."

Trish grinned, "Well, I've got a few ideas."

* * *

 **A/N -** Please note that I am not a business person, neither am I a genius of any description. Or in any way as bright as my characters are meant to be. So, any feedback about this chapter would be greatly appreciated to make it more believable.


	16. Enter Stranger, But Take Heed

**Chapter Fifteen**

 **Enter Stranger, But Take Heed**

* * *

 **Summary:**

Everything was prepared for their presentation, but the fates still managed to throw a few spanners in the mix.

* * *

After Trish went through her plans for the presentation, Christine was feeling very confident. It was a plan that was a little like something Anna would come up with. Outside the box, but brilliant. As well as that, Trish and Harrio had gone over every detail of the financials, down to every last knut.

As far as they were concerned, they were ready for the meeting. And Trish was confident they would be successful in getting the funding they needed.

But Francis had noticed a flaw in their plans that had slipped their notice. Which proved Trish's point. You never had enough people working on a business start up like theirs. Because what Francis noticed was quite a significant hitch in their proposal.

"Wait a minute," Francis said as they started to gather their belongings, "There's something else, I've just thought of it."

"What is it?" Trish demanded, with a worried look, and started to frantically look through the parchment she had just finished arranging into a neat stack. Completely and utterly ruining all of her previous efforts.

"Oh, it's nothing to do with all that," Francis assured Trish hurriedly, "It's just we've got it settled that Kit'll take care of all the protections and concealments."

Trish relaxed significantly when Francis revealed the source of her concern. Her shoulders drooped back down from where she'd been holding them tight, almost around her ears. And the rolls of parchment she was frantically rifling through fell from her hands onto the small table in a heap.

"Oh," she sighed, "Well, yeah. Of course we have. Who else would be able to do it?"

"That's the thing, _we_ know Kit can do all that no problem. The goblins don't. Far as they know we're just recent Hogwarts graduates, and one of us would strike them as magical savants."

"Shit, she's right," Christine agreed with a grimace, "I haven't exactly gone screaming about what I can do to the entire wizarding world."

"Fuck me," Harrio exclaimed, slapping herself on the forehead, "What do we do?"

"Fucking fuck!" Trish yelled loud enough for everyone in the Leaky Cauldron to immediately stop whatever it was they were doing and wheel around to stare at their little group wearing expressions of mingled shock and intrigue.

"Mind your own business," Penny told the room at large, "There's nothing to see here."

"Just someone inches away from a psychotic break," Harrio murmured to Christine, too low for anyone else, particularly Trish, to hear.

Christine stifled a laugh, if only barely. And hit a smile behind her hand. Luckily, the rest of their group were too busy collecting themselves and attempting to appear like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened to notice her rather poor attempts to hide her mirth. Which was excellent. Because if Trish had seen her laughing just then, Christine was sure Trish would've totally lost it. And Christine was quite fond of her head where it was, still attached.

She had no current plans to apply for the Headless Hunt, thank you very much.

"Trish," Francis drew her attention in a comforting whisper once everyone in the pub had gone back to minding their own business, "It's okay, all we have to do is give them a few other names. Pretend we're hiring more people to work with Kit on that part of the developments."

"That won't work," Trish argued just as quietly, "Goblins are smart, they'll know we're lying to them about something. And then we can say goodbye to any hope of getting the money we need."

"Then there's only one solution," Harrio reasoned calmly, "We actually hire people to help Kit."

Christine nodded, considering it for a moment, "I know a few people as good with that kind of thing as I am. They'd be willing to do it if we pay them."

"Your family?" Francis asked curiously.

The girls, aside from Penny, had met all of Christine's immediate family several times over the years. But they hadn't met many of her extended family. They had heard more than enough stories about her many, many cousins to make them curious and eager to meet the rest of the Rumancek clan.

And you could say the same about her cousins in regard to them. They were very curious about the group of friends Christine had found. Who didn't look down on her for her heritage. Who respected and liked Christine's family.

Yes, they'd be very happy to help with Trish's projects. And they probably wouldn't even ask for money. They'd do it as a favour to Kit. But she'd never ask them to work for free. No one in her family could afford to do that, no matter what they tried to tell her to the contrary. She wasn't a little girl anymore. Christine knew exactly what her family's financial situation was, and what it meant.

"Yeah," she answered casually, "I'm sure they'll do it no problem. And they were all trained by Aunt Lilia as well. They know everything I do, or just about."

"How much do you think they'll want for working with us?" Harrio asked, trying to find her cost analysis in the wreckage Trish left from her panic attack.

"Sixty galleons a week is fair for that sort of work, isn't it?" Christine suggested, to which Harrio nodded, jotting down the figures alongside the rest of her notes.

"And how long d'you think it'll take you guys to get everything done?" she asked, tapping her quill against her mouth in an unceasing rhythm.

"With four of us working on it, I'd say a month per site. We could probably get it all done more quickly than that, but saying a month gives us some leeway in case anything comes up."

Harrio scribbled down some more figures and did some rapid mental arithmetic before she resurfaced and looked anyone in the eye. it was only when she finished the last calculation with a flourish that she looked at Trish, who had gone back to wringing her hands and chewing the inside of her cheek. She threw down the quill and grinned triumphantly. Which was enough to surprise Trish into stillness.

"It's fine," she declared, still grinning, "Paying wages to three people hasn't affected the numbers _too_ much. And considering how much we're saving on land and materials the goblins shouldn't put up a fuss about it."

Trish let out the breath she'd been holding in for far too long, a look of ecstatic relief taking over her face.

"Thank Merlin," she said, sagging back in her chair, "Does that mean we're ready to get going, or does anyone else want to give me heart failure first?"

"I think we're good Trish," Christine said, patting her consolingly on the arm, "None of us want you croaking just yet."

"Excellent," Trish replied, "Glad to know you don't want me dead _yet_."

"Come on, let's get going," Francis said shaking a roll of parchment at them, "Help me fix your mess."

"I wouldn't have made a mess if you hadn't scared the life out of me."

"That's not the point, come on."

With quite a bit of good natured bickering, they gathered their things and left the Leaky Cauldron. Christine was glad to be gone from the dingy, cramped place. She would never see the appeal of it.

They got a few strange looks as they walked together back through Diagon Alley. Even if the strange place filled with strange crowds, Christine and her friends seemed to stand out. To draw the same kinds of stares and whispers that so often followed her when she was on her own.

People always said there was strength in numbers. But even when she was with her friends the staring was just as discomforting.

As much as she had gotten used to it over time, Christine still occasionally wanted to hit the odd person who was overtly brazen about what they were doing. Couldn't they be polite enough to at least pretend they weren't gawping and gossiping about people five feet away from them?

But Christine did her best to put all of them out of her mind. And not to think about the friendly face that had surprised her so much earlier. She had more important things to think about. She had work to do. As they ascended the steps to Gringotts, the only thing Christine thought of was that Trish was relying on her, on all of them.

And they needed to convince some goblins to fork over a boat load of gold.

To do that, they all needed to be focused. More manipulative and bulletproof than they ever had to be at Hogwarts. Goblins were much more difficult to convince than any of their schoolmates. Snape probably would have been the closest comparison Christine could have made. But, then, he always had a bit of a soft spot for her. She'd never had to do much convincing when it came to her head of house.

Still, Christine was pretty sure they could do it. Her friends had tested their metal against Snape. And she had done the same against others. Her Aunt Lilia wasn't as overtly terrifying as the potions master was. But she was an even greater legilimens, and more dangerous than a raging Hungarian Horntail when she was angry. So, it levelled out, in her mind at least.

They'd arranged it between themselves to arrive early for the meeting. Even with Francis', warranted, interruptions and the last minute calculations that came with it, they were still ten minutes early. Even so, they evidently weren't as early as the managers they were meeting. Because as soon as they entered the grand marble entryway, one of the goblins left his place behind his elevated counter and came to greet them.

"Good afternoon Miss Pembroke," he said curtly, "My superiors are ready for you and your partners. Follow me."

None of them were surprised by being addressed in such an abrupt manner. After visiting Gringotts a few times one simply got used to it. It also became quickly apparent to regular visitors that replying was unnecessary.

And silence was usually a rather good decision. The Gringotts goblins didn't appreciate small talk. So, remaining quiet aside from business dealings was the best way to avoid pissing them off.

So, instead of saying anything about the way they were addressed, they all simply followed the goblin who hadn't bothered to introduce himself. They were led by the goblin to an area of Gringotts Christine had never visited before. Instead of going down to the rough stone tunnels that contained the vaults, they were led up a flight of stairs that was almost invisible from the entryway.

The upper floors, Christine discovered, were just as ostentatiously decorated as the ground floor. With engraved golden plaques on each door, presumably declaring the rooms' purpose.

Christine couldn't say that for certain, since the engravings were all in gobbledegook. From eavesdropping, and the occasional use of legilimency, whenever she was at the wizarding bank she had picked up a little bit of gobbledegook. Only enough to get the general gist of a conversation, though. And she certainly couldn't read any of it.

She didn't like being at that kind of disadvantage. Especially because she was so used to being able to understand people, wherever she was.

Christine and her friends were led upwards through the building higher and higher. She hadn't expected that. As far as she knew, meetings like theirs usually took place in conference rooms on either the first or second floor. If you were lucky. If you weren't, then you might just have to plead your case for a loan at a counter in the entryway. In front of anyone and everyone passing by to their own vaults.

Instead of either of those options they were brought to the fifth floor. Christine wouldn't consider herself an expert when it came to the history and inner workings of Gringotts. Far from it, actually. But she'd never heard of any humans being allowed this deep into the management area of the bank.

This line of thought didn't only occur to Christine. She caught each of her companions in turn. And it was clear they were thinking along the same lines as her. And when she caught Trish's gaze, the look in her eye made it clear that this unexpected turn of events changed nothing. Christine subtly signalled that she understood, without alerting their guide of their communication.

Eventually the goblin guiding them came to a halt in front of a grand set of polished double doors. They had been cared to mimic the look of the vaults far below them. They were clearly made to be intimidating, but once you've seen Severus Snape in a rage, everything else seemed quite benign in comparison.

The doors opened, seemingly of their own accord. Their guide bowed them through the doors unspeakingly. Christine and her friends stepped over the threshold equally silently, and the heavy doors slammed shut behind them. Leaving the five of them standing at the end of an ornately adorned, enormous room with an equally large and intricately carved table at its centre. At which a dozen goblins sat facing them wearing harsh, grim expressions.

Instead of beginning the meeting right away, Christine and the others followed Trish to a nearby sideboard, bearing several heavy ledgers. There, each of them took out their wands. And laid them on top of one of the large ledgers. A quick glance at a nearby mirror showed Christine that the managers were now openly gaping at them.

The first of Trish's gambits had certainly been effective.

Then Trish led the way around the huge table, and offered her hand to the nearest goblin. He was still staring at them in obvious surprise, which was only made more evident at this action. So, it took him a few seconds to process what was happening. He then regarded each of them suspiciously before he eventually extended his own hand.

"Trish Pembroke," she introduced herself cheerfully as they shook hands.

It was a few seconds after they broke contact that he did the same, "Ragnor," he said shortly.

They spent a few moments going around introducing themselves to the goblins. Some of them returned the favour, but most didn't. Which was a better response than they'd expected, so Christine counted that as a win. Personally, Christine hadn't expected any of them to introduce themselves in kind. And thought they'd be lucky if any of the goblins deigned to shake their hands.

Perhaps they were too surprised to react with hostility or disdain. Christine couldn't say for sure without looking into their minds, which she didn't want to risk unless she had to. Whatever the reason for it, it had resulted in one of very few situations where Christine was glad to be wrong.

And when they sat to begin the meeting, it was clear that Trish's approach had worked. The goblins felt respected, and in control, with all of their wands out of reach. Which was exactly what they wanted.

But their adversaries were unaware of a few crucial pieces of information. Information which meant that they weren't in control at all. Christine was a legilimens, for one. For another, Romani didn't use wands.


End file.
